THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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V 


MARK    TIDD 
IN   THE    BACKWOODS 


BOOKS  BY 
CLARENCE  BUDINGTON  KELLAND 

MARK  TIDD  IN  EGYPT 

MARK  TIDD  IN  ITALY 

MARK  TIDD 

MARK  TIDD  IN  THE  BACKWOODS 

MARK  TIDD  IN  BUSINESS 

MARK  TIDD'S  CITADEL 

MARK  TIDD,  EDITOR 

MARK  TIDD,  MANUFACTURER 

CATTY  ATKINS,  BANDMASTER 

CATTY  ATKINS 

CATTY  ATKINS,  RIVERMAN 

CATTY  ATKINS,  SAILORMAN 

CATTY  ATKINS,  FINANCIER 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS 
Established  1817 


[See  page  267 

THEN    I     HEARD    COLLINS    SAY    SOMETHING    THAT     SOUNDED     LIKE 
"WO-OO-OF1" 


MARK  TIDD 
IN  THE  BACKWOODS 


BY 

CLARENCE   B.  KELLAND 

AUTHOR  OF  "MARK  TIDD" 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


COPYRIGHT.   1914,  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 
D-I 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THEN  I  HEARD  COLLINS  SAY  SOMETHING  THAT 

SOUNDED  LIKE  "WO-OO-OF!" Frontispiece 

RIGHT  IN  THE  MIDDLE  OF  IT  THE  OLD  HORSE 
JUMPED  ALL  His  FEET  OFF  THE  GROUND  AND 
STARTED  DOWN  THE  ROAD  A-KmNG  ....  Facing  p.  60 

MY  POLE  LANDED  GOOD  AND  SOLID  RIGHT  BETWEEN 

THE  Two  SHEDS,  AND  I  SWUNG  OUT  AND  OVER  "  202 

HE  WENT  DOWN,  ROLLING  OVER  AND  OVER  RIGHT 

UP  TO  UNCLE  HIERONYMOUS'S  FEET  ....  "  266 


612687 

LIBRARY 


MARK   TIDD 
IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  all  started  just  before  school  was  out. 
One  afternoon  when  I  got  home  mother 
showed  me  a  letter  from  Uncle  Hieronymous, 
who  lives  in  the  woods  back  of  Baldwin,  on  the 
Middle  Branch  of  the  Pere  Marquette  River. 
I  never  had  seen  him,  but  he  and  mother  wrote 
to  each  other  quite  often,  and  I  guess  she'd 
been  telling  him  a  good  deal  about  me,  that's 
Binney  Jenks,  and  Mark  Tidd  and  Tallow 
and  Plunk.  Of  course,  Mark  Tidd  was  most 
important.  He  always  thought  us  out  of 
scrapes.  So  what  did  this  letter  of  his  do  but 
invite  us  all  to  come  up  to  his  place  and  stay 
the  whole  summer  if  we  wanted  to? 

As  soon  as  I  read  it  I  was  so  excited  I  had 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

to  stand  up  and  prance  around  the  room. 
I  couldn't  sit  still. 

"Can  we  go,  ma?  Can  we  go?"  I  asked, 
over  and  over  again,  without  giving  her  a 
chance  to  answer. 

Ma  had  been  thinking  it  over,  because  she 
said  yes  right  off.  Ma  never  says  yes  to 
things  until  she's  had  a  chance  to  look  at 
them  from  all  sides  and  knows  just  what  the 
chances  are  for  my  coming  out  alive.  "You 
can  go  if  the  other  boys  can,"  she  told  me, 
and  I  didn't  wait  to  hear  another  word,  but 
went  pelting  off  to  Mark's  house. 

Mark  was  in  the  back  yard  talking  to  his 
father  when  I  got  there,  and  I  burst  right  in 
on  them. 

"Can  you  go?"  I  hollered.  "D'you  think 
you  can  go?" 

' '  L-1-light  somewheres, ' '  says  he.  ' '  You're 
floppin'  around  1-1-1-like  Bill  Durfee's  one- 
legged  ch-chicken." 

"Can  you  go  to  my  uncle  Hieronymous's? 
We're  asked  in  a  letter.  The  whole  kit  and 
bilin'  of  us.  Up  in  the  woods.  Right  on  a 
trout-stream.  In  a  log  cabin."  I  broke  it  all 
up  into  short  sentences  like  that,  I  was  so 
anxious.  After  a  while  Mark  got  it  all  out  of 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE    BACKWOODS 

me  so  he  understood  it,  then  he  turned  to  his 
father. 

"C-c-can  I  go,  father?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Tidd,  though  he'd  got  to  be  rich,  was 
just  as  mild  and  sort  of  dazed-like  and  for- 
getful as  ever — and  helpless!  You  wouldn't 
believe  how  helpless  he  was. 

"Way  off  into  the  woods?"  says  he. 
"Fishin'  and  sich  like?  Um-hum.  'S  far's 
I'm  concerned,  Mark,  there  hain't  a  single 
objection,  but,  Mark,  I  calc'late  you  better 
see  your  ma.  She  sort  of  looks  after  the 
family  more'n  I  do.  .  .  .  And  if  she  lets 
you  go,  son,  I'll  give  you  a  new  set  of  Gibbon's 
Decline  and  Fall  to  take  with  you.  You'll 
enjoy  readin'  it  evenin's."  With  that  he 
took  out  of  his  pocket  a  volume  of  old  Gibbon 
and  sat  himself  down  on  the  back  steps  to 
read  it.  He  was  always  reading  that  book 
and  telling  you  things  out  of  it.  After  I'd 
known  him  a  year  I  most  knew  it  by  heart. 

We  went  right  up-stairs  to  where  Mrs.  Tidd 
was  making  her  husband  a  shirt  on  the  sewing- 
machine.  She  didn't  have  to  make  him  shirts, 
because  they  had  money  enough  from  the 
invention  to  buy  half  a  dozen  to  a  time  if 
they  wanted  to.  But  Mrs.  Tidd,  she  says 
3 


MARK  TIDD  IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

there  ain't  any  use  buying  shirts  for  a  dollar 
and  a  half  when  you  can  make  them  twice  as 
good  for  fifty  cents  and  a  little  work.  That 
was  her  all  over. 

Mark  called  to  her  from  the  door.  "Ma," 
he  said,  "can  I  go — " 

She  didn't  let  him  get  any  further  than  that, 
but  just  says  sharp-like  over  her  shoulder: 
"There's  a  fresh  berry-pie  on  the  second  shelf. 
Can't  you  see  I'm  so  busy  I  dunno  where  to 
turn?" 

"But,  ma,"  he  says  again,  "I  d-d-d-don't 
want  pie.  I  want  to  g-go — " 

"No,"  says  she,  "you  can't."  Just  like 
that,  without  finding  out  where  he  wanted 
to  go  or  anything;  but  that  didn't  scare  us  a 
mite,  for  we  knew  her  pretty  well,  I  can  tell 
you.  In  a  second  she  turned  around  and 
wrinkled  her  forehead  at  us.  "Where  you 
want  to  go?"  she  rapped  out. 

Mark  started  in  to  tell  her,  but  he  stut- 
tered so  I  had  to  do  it  myself.  I  explained 
all  about  it  in  a  jiffy.  She  thought  a  minute. 

"It'll  get  you  out  from  underfoot,"  she 
says,  "and  keep  us  from  being  et  out  of 
house  and  home.  I  guess  if  the  others  can 
go  you  can." 

4 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

You  always  could  depend  on  Mrs.  Tidd  to 
be  just  that  way.  She  was  so  busy  with 
housekeeping  or  something,  and  had  her  head 
so  full  that  she  didn't  get  to  understand  what 
you  said  at  first  and  always  said  no  just  to 
be  safe,  I  guess.  But  I  never  knew  her  to 
refuse  Mark  anything  that  he  had  any  busi- 
ness asking.  For  all  her  quickness  we  fellows 
thought  a  heap  of  her,  I  want  to  tell  you. 

When  the  Martins  and  Smalleys  found  out 
we  could  go  they  let  Tallow  and  Plunk  come 
along,  so  there  we  were.  We  fixed  it  to  leave 
the  day  school  was  out  and  to  stay  just  as 
long  as  we  could  hold  out. 

We  started  the  day  we  planned.  At  first 
we  thought  we'd  take  a  lunch,  but  Mrs. 
Tidd  set  her  foot  down. 

"You'll  need  a  hot  meal,"  she  told  us,  "so 
you  go  right  into  the  dining-car  when  you 
get  hungry."  Then  she  gave  Mark  the  money 
for  our  dinners,  and  we  all  kissed  our  folks 
good-by  and  got  on  the  train. 

It  was  pretty  interesting  riding  along,  and 
we  enjoyed  it  fine  till  we  got  to  Grand  Rapids. 
We  had  to  change  there  for  Baldwin,  and  from 
then  on  the  ride  began  to  get  tiresome.  We 
tried  a  lot  of  things  to  pass  away  the  time, 
5 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE    BACKWOODS 

but  nothing  helped.  I  guess  it  was  because 
we  were  so  anxious  to  get  into  the  woods. 
We  went  along  and  along  and  along.  I  hadn't 
any  idea  Michigan  was  so  big.  After  a  while 
a  colored  man  came  in  and  yelled  that  dinner 
was  ready  in  the  dining-car.  Mark  began 
to  grin.  It  looked  like  he  was  ready  for  the 
dinner.  So  was  I,  and  the  other  fellows  didn't 
hold  back  much.  We  went  in  and  sat  down 
at  a  little  table.  Each  of  us  got  a  card  that 
told  what  there  was  to  eat.  There  were  so 
many  things  it  was  hard  to  make  up  our  minds, 
but  finally  we  hit  on  the  idea  of  every  fellow 
taking  something  different,  and  so  we  got 
a  look  at  more  of  it  than  we  would  any  other 
way.  We  were  about  two-thirds  through 
eating  when  all  at  once  that  car  acted  like  it 
had  gone  crazy.  I  looked  at  the  other  three, 
and  you  never  saw  folks  with  such  scared 
expressions  in  all  your  life.  Their  eyes  bulged 
out,  their  mouths  were  open. 

Well,  sir,  we  just  rose  right  up  out  of  our 
chairs;  that  is,  all  of  us  did  but  Mark  Tidd, 
and  he  was  so  wedged  in  he  couldn't.  It 
started  with  a  crack  that  we  could  hear  above 
the  roaring  of  the  train,  then  the  car  sagged 
down  at  the  front  end  and  began  to  bump 
6 


MARK  TIDD  IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

and  jump  and  wabble  back  and  forth  like  a 
boat  in  a  storm.  We  hadn't  time  to  get 
scared — only  startled.  Then  the  car  went 
over — smash!  I  don't  believe  anybody  ever 
got  such  a  jolt.  The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was 
kicking  around  in  a  mess  of  rubbish  with  my 
head  down  and  my  feet  up.  Busted  tables 
and  dishes  and  chairs  and  folks  were  all 
scrambled  on  top  of  me.  First  off  I  thought 
sure  it  was  the  end  of  me,  but  I  didn't  hurt 
any  place,  and  when  my  heart  settled  down 
below  my  Adam's  apple  I  began  squirming 
around  to  get  loose. 

I  remember  the  first  thing  I  thought  about 
was  its  being  so  still.  Nobody  was  hollering 
or  groaning  or  anything.  It  surprised  me 
and  sort  of  frightened  me.  I  squirmed  harder 
and  wriggled  a  table  off  me  and  pushed  a 
chair  away  from  the  back  of  my  neck.  Then 
I  sat  up.  You  never  saw  such  a  sight. 
The  car  was  lying  on  its  side,  and  the 
lower  side  where  I  was  was  nothing  but 
a  jumble  of  things  and  people.  And  the 
whole  jumble  looked  like  it  was  squirm- 
ing. 

Next  I  thought  about  Mark  Tidd.  He  was 
so  fat  and  heavy  I  was  afraid  he'd  be  smashed 
7 


MARK  TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

all  to  pieces.  I  tried  to  call  him,  and  at  the 
third  try  I  got  out  his  name. 

"Mark,"  says  I,  faint-like,  "are  you  hurt?" 

Over  to  the  left  of  me,  under  a  dining-table 
with  its  legs  spraddled  up,  I  heard  a  grunt — 
a  disgusted  grunt.  It  was  a  familiar  grunt,  a 
grunt  that  belonged  to  Mark. 

"H-h-hurt,"  says  he,  sarcastic-like,  but  cool 
as  a  cucumber,  only  stuttering  more  than 
usual.  "H-h-hurt!  Me?  Naw;  I'm  com- 
fortable as  a  ulcerated  t-t-tooth.  Hey,  you," 
aays  he  to  somebody  down  under  the  rub- 
bish, "quit  a-kickin'  me  in  the  s-s-stummick." 

I  knew  he  was  all  right  then,  and  began  fig- 
gering  about  Tallow  Martin  and  Plunk  Smal- 
ley.  In  a  minnit  both  of  them  came  sort  of 
oozing  out  from  amongst  things  looking  like 
they'd  sat  down  for  a  friendly  chat  with  a 
cyclone. 

"  Mother  '11  be  mad  about  these  pants,"  says 
Plunk. 

"There  hain't  much  pants  left  for  her  to 
get  mad  about,"  says  Tallow,  angry-like  and 
rubbing  at  his  shoulder.  "What  you  want  to 
do  is  get  a  barrel." 

"W-what  you  want  to  do,"  says  Mark 
Tidd,  "is  g-git  me  out  of  here.  There's  a 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

feller  keeps  k-k-kickin'  me  in  the  ribs  and 
somebody  t-t-tried  to  ram  a  table-leg  into  my 
e-e-ear." 

Folks  was  digging  their  way  out  all  around 
us  now,  and  nobody  seemed  hurt  particular, 
though  some  was  making  an  awful  fuss,  spe- 
cially a  stout  lady  that  had  lost  a  breastpin. 
We  began  mining  for  Mark,  and  pretty  soon 
we  got  down  to  where  we  could  see  him.  He 
was  the  beat  of  anything  I  ever  saw.  Some- 
how he'd  wriggled  so  as  to  get  his  head  on  a 
soft  leather  bag  that  somebody  'd  brought 
into  the  diner — most  likely  some  woman.  One 
arm  was  pinned  down,  but  the  other  was 
free,  and  what  do  you  think  he  was  doing 
with  it?  Eating!  Yes,  sir;  eating!  He  had 
two  bananas  in  his  pocket  that  he'd  grabbed 
off  the  table  just  before  the  smash-up,  and 
there  he  lay,  gobbling  away  as  calm  as  an 
iron  hitching-post.  It  made  me  mad. 

"You'd  eat,"  says  I,  "if  Gabriel  was  tooting 
his  horn!" 

"  D-d-didn't  know  what  was  goin'  to  h-hap- 
pen,"  says  he,  "so  I  th-thought  I'd  g-git  what 
enjoyment  there  was  t-t-to  it." 

We  hauled  him  out,  and  it  took  all  three  of 
us.  Heavy?  I  bet  he  weighs  two  hundred 
9 


MARK  TIDD  IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

pounds.  We  got  Ms  head  and  shoulders  free 
first  and  tried  to  drag  the  rest  of  him  from 
under,  but  he  wouldn't  drag.  Why,  each  one 
of  his  legs  weighs  as  much  as  I  do.  He  has  to 
have  all  his  clothes  made  special.  I  bet  I 
could  rip  one  of  his  pant-legs  down  the  front, 
put  sleeves  in  it,  and  wear  it  for  an  overcoat. 

While  we  were  tugging  away  at  him  some- 
body outside  began  smashin'  the  door,  and 
pretty  soon  three  or  four  men  crawled  in  and 
began  helping  folks  out.  One  of  them  came 
over  to  us  and  looked  down  at  Mark. 

"Hum,"  says  he.  " Didn't  know  there  was 
a  side-show  aboard." 

That  made  Mark  kind  of  mad. 

"Mister,"  says  he,  "this  is  the  f-f-f-first 
wreck  I  was  ever  in,  and  I  want  to  en-enjoy  it. 
So  I'd  rather  b-be  pulled  out  by  a  f-f -feller 
that's  more  polite." 

The  man  laughed.  "Didn't  mean  to  offend 
you,"  he  said.  "  Beg  your  pardon.  Naturally 
I'm  oneof  the  politest  men  in  Michigan,  but, 
you  see,  I  was  shaken  up  considerable  by  the 
wreck." 

Mark  grinned.  "All  right,"  says  he.  " Go 
ahead.  I've  got  about  all  the  f-fun  there  is  out 
of  bein'  tangled  up  here." 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

The  four  of  us  hoisted  him  up  and  set  him 
on  his  feet.  He  shook  himself  like  you've  seen 
a  dog  do  when  it  comes  out  of  the  water, 
blinked  around  him  to  see  what  there  was  to 
see — and  then  took  another  banana  out  of  his 
pocket  and  began  to  skin  it  absent-mindedly. 

The  man  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
fit  to  kill.  "You  sure  are  a  cool  one,"  he  says. 

"Don't  do  any  good  to  g-g-get  excited," 
says  Mark.  "There's  always  enough  o-other 
folks  to  do  that.  Anybody  hurt?" 

"Haven't  found  anybody  yet.  It's  a  regu- 
lar miracle." 

Mark  looked  at  Tallow  and  Plunk  and  me 
and  shook  his  head.  "You're  the  fellers  that 
d-d-don't  b'lieve  in  luck,"  says  he.  "Now  I 
g-g-guess  you  won't  make  fun  of  my  carryin' 
a  horseshoe."  And  he  pulled  one  out  of  his 
pocket.  "Found  this  jest  as  we  was  gittin'  on 
the  train,"  he  says  to  the  man,  "and  1-look 
what  it's  done!" 

"I'll  never  travel  again  without  a  horse- 
shoe," he  says.  "Let's  get  out  of  here — 
we're  the  last  ones." 

"Got  to  git  my  hat,"  says  Mark. 

That  was  just  like  him.  When  he  did  a 
thing  he  did  it  thorough.  If  there'd  been  any 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

danger  and  he  ought  to  have  got  out  he  would 
have  gone.  He  never  took  chances  he  didn't 
have  to;  but  there  wasn't  any  danger,  so  he 
wouldn't  go  until  he  took  along  everything 
that  belonged  to  him.  It  took  us  twenty 
minutes  to  locate  our  stuff.  The  man  helped 
us,  laughing  all  the  time.  He  seemed  to  think 
he  was  having  a  lot  of  fun.  I  sort  of  liked  him, 
too.  He  was  jolly  and  good-natured  and 
pretty  good-looking. 

When  we  got  outside  I  said  to  Mark,  so 
the  man  couldn't  hear,  "  Nice  feller,  ain't  he?" 

"Too  g-good-natured,"  says  he. 

"You're  mad  'cause  he  made  fun  of  you." 

"Tain't  that.  He's  one  of  these  f-f -fellers 
that  make  a  business  of  bein'  p-pleasant. 
Maybe  he's  all  right,  b-but  if  I  was  goin' 
to  have  much  to  do  with  him  I'd  k-keep  my 
eye  on  him." 

"Huh!"  says  I;  but  after  a  while  you'll  see 
Mark  wasn't  so  far  wrong,  after  all.  I  never 
saw  such  a  boy  for  seeing  into  folks.  He 
could  almost  always  guess  what  kind  of  a 
person  anybody  was. 

We  stood  around  a  minute,  getting  our 
breath  and  sort  of  cahning  down.  Then  we 
watched  the  trainmen  digging  baggage  and 

12 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

valuables  out  of  the  car  and  finding  owners  to 
fit  them.  That  wasn't  very  interesting,  so 
we  went  and  sat  down  on  the  bank  beside  the 
track  and  commenced  to  wonder  how  long  we 
would  have  to  stay  there. 

"Probably  have  to  wait  for  a  train  from 
Grand  Rapids,"  Tallow  said. 

Mark  got  up  and  looked  down  the  track. 
"G-g-guess  they  can  crowd  us  in  th-them." 

Just  then  the  good-natured  man  who  helped 
us  out  of  the  wreck  came  along,  grinning  like 
he'd  found  a  quarter  on  the  sidewalk. 

"Hello!"  says  he.  "Any  the  worse  for 
wear?" 

"No,"  says  Plunk. 

"Camping?"  says  he. 

"Sort  of,"  says  I.  "Goin'  to  stay  at  my 
uncle's  cabin." 

"Whereabouts?"  he  asked. 

"We  git  off  at  Baldwin,"  I  told  him. 

"Good  fishing?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"My  uncle  says  it's  bully." 

He  sat  down  alongside  of  us.  "My  name's 
Collins,"  says  he— "John  Collins." 

He  sort  of  waited,  and  then  I  introduced 
everybody,  beginning  with  Mark  Tidd,  then 
Tallow  Martin,  who  was  next  to  him,  then 
13 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Plunk  Smalley,  and  last  of  all  Binney  Jenks, 
which  is  me. 

We  talked  considerable  and  speculated  on 
how  long  we  would  have  to  wait  and  wished 
there  was  a  lunch-counter  handy — especially 
Mark.  Maybe  twenty  minutes  went  along 
before  we  saw  the  conductor  and  yelled  at 
him  to  know  if  we  were  going  to  have  to  stay 
all  night. 

"Better  hustle  up  to  the  day  coaches,"  says 
he.  "I  guess  we  can  pull  out  pretty  soon." 

When  we  got  in  the  car  it  was  pretty 
crowded,  but  we  four  got  seats  together.  Mr. 
Collins  had  to  take  half  of  a  seat  quite  a  ways 
off  from  us.  I  could  tell  by  the  way  Mark's 
eyes  looked  that  he  was  glad.  For  some 
reason  or  another  he'd  taken  a  dislike  to  the 
man.  I  couldn't  see  why,  because  he  seemed 
to  me  to  be  pleasant  enough  for  anybody. 

I  noticed  that  Mark  had  a  piece  of  paper 
in  his  hand,  crumpled  up  into  a  ball. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked  him. 

"D-dun'no'.     Picked  it  up  outside." 

"Nothin'  but  a  piece  of  paper,  is  it?" 

"Looks  so,  but  you  n-n-never  can  tell." 
He  opened  it  up,  and  it  wasn't  anything  but 
a  sheet  of  a  letter.  The  writing  began  right 
'4 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  where  the  man  who 
wrote  it  had  finished  one  page  and  started  anoth- 
er. I  looked  over  Mark's  shoulder  and  read  it. 

" — peculiar  old  codger,"  it  said.  "You'll 
have  to  be  careful  how  you  handle  him. 
He'll  smell  a  mouse  if  you  don't  step  pretty 
softly,  and  then  the  fat  will  be  in  the  fire. 
You  haven't  the  description  of  the  land,  so 
here  it  is.  Keep  it  safely,  and  bring  back  a 
deed.  It  will  be  the  best  day's  work  you 
ever  did."  Then  came  some  letters  and 
figures  that  we  didn't  understand,  but  we 
did  understand  them  later.  They  looked 
mysterious  and  like  a  cipher  code — "The  S.  40 
of  the  N.  W.  X  of  Sec.  6,  Town  i  north, 
R.  4  west."  Then  the  letter  was  signed  by  a 
man  named  Williams  J.  Partlan. 

"Wonder  what  it  means?"  I  asked. 

' '  Dun'no' , ' '  says  Mark.  ' '  Guess  I '11  s-s-save 
it  and  find  out." 

Now,  that  was  just  like  Mark.  He  didn't 
just  wonder  what  these  letters  and  figures 
meant  and  then  throw  away  the  paper;  he 
saved  it  so  he  could  study  it  out  or  ask  some- 
body who  could  explain  it  to  him.  He  was 
the  greatest  fellow  for  looking  into  things  he 
couldn't  understand  you  ever  heard  of. 


MARK    TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

It  was  hot  and  dusty,  and  pretty  soon  it 
began  to  get  dark.  First  I  knew  Mark  began 
slumping  over  against  me  until  he  almost 
squeezed  me  out  of  the  seat,  and  then  he 
began  to  snore.  I  poked  him  with  my  elbow, 
but  it  didn't  do  any  good.  Once  Mark  Tidd 
gets  to  sleep  it  would  take  more  than  my 
elbow  to  wake  him  up.  I  bet  he'd  have  slept 
right  through  the  wreck  and  been  picked  out 
of  it  without  ever  missing  a  snore.  After  a 
while  the  conductor  came  through  and  called 
"Baldwin.  Change  for  Manistee,  Traverse 
City,  and  Petoskey."  At  that  I  had  to  wake 
Mark,  so  I  put  my  mouth  close  to  his  ear 
and  hollered.  He  lifted  a  big  fat  hand  and 
tried  to  brush  me  away  like  I  was  a  fly.  I 
hollered  again  and  poked  him  a  good  one  in 
the  ribs.  He  grunted  this  time,  and  with 
another  poke  and  a  holler  he  half  opened  his 
eyes  and  wiggled  his  head  from  one  side  to  the 
other  like  he  was  displeased  about  something. 

1 '  We're  coming  to  Baldwin, ' '  said  I .  "  Wake 
up." 

"I  d-d -don't  care,"  says  he,  stuttering  like 
anything,  "if  we're  c-c-comin*  to  Jericho  with 
the  walls  a-tumblin'  down." 

But  in  a  minnit  he  roused  up,  and  as  soon 
16 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

as  he  really  got  it  through  his  head  what  was 
going  on  he  was  as  wide  awake  as  anybody. 

After  a  little  the  train  stopped  at  Baldwin, 
and  we  scrambled  out,  lugging  our  suit-cases. 
Out  of  the  tail  of  my  eye  I  saw  Mr.  Collins 
getting  off,  too.  Well,  sir,  we  got  off  at  a 
little  depot,  smaller  than  the  one  at  Wicks- 
ville.  Down  a  little  piece  was  a  building  with 
lights  on  it,  and  that  was  all.  There  wasn't 
any  town  that  we  could  see,  nothing  but  the 
two  buildings. 

"B-b-bet  it's  a  lunch-counter,"  says  Mark. 

"Makes  no  difference  if  it  is,"  says  I. 
"We  got  to  find  my  uncle,  and  you  got  to  come 
along.  If  you  don't  we  never  will  find  him, 
for  you're  all  he's  got  to  go  by.  I  never  saw 
him,  you  know.  When  mother  wrote  we  were 
coming  she  told  him  to  look  out  for  the  fattest 
boy  he  ever  saw,  and  that  the  rest  of  us 
would  be  along  with  you." 

"Huh!"  says  Mark,  disgusted-like. 

We  stood  in  front  of  the  depot,  looking 
around  and  waiting  for  uncle  to  come  up  and 
speak  to  us.  Pretty  soon  we  saw  a  man 
come  along  squinting  at  everybody  and  look- 
ing into  corners  and  stretching  his  neck  to 
see  around  people.  He  was  a  tall  man,  so 
17 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

tall  his  head  come  almost  on  a  level  with  the 
top  of  the  door.  He  had  a  mustache,  too — 
the  biggest  one  I  ever  saw,  with  ends  that 
poked  out  past  his  cheeks  and  then  swerved 
down  until  they  almost  touched  his  shoulders. 
He  didn't  have  any  hat  on,  and  his  overalls 
didn't  come  within  six  inches  of  reaching  his 
shoes.  I  most  laughed  out  loud. 

When  he  came  to  us  he  stopped  and  looked 
and  looked.  It  was  mostly  at  Mark. 

"Hum!"  says  he,  after  a  minnit.  "Fattest 
boy  I  ever  see.  .  .  .  Fattest.  .  .  .  Boy."  He 
reached  out  an  arm  as  long  as  a  fence-rail 
and  pointed  at  Mark.  "You're  him,"  says 
he,  and  chuckled  to  himself.  "Now,  hain't 
you  him?"  He  didn't  wait  for  an  answer, 
but  said  a  little  poetry.  I  found  afterward  he 
made  it  up  on  the  spot. 

"I'm  lookin'  for  a  boy  who  is  awful  fat, 
But  I  didn't  think  you'd  be  as  big  as  that." 

Then  he  grinned  the  mostly  friendly  grin 
you  ever  saw. 

"Hieronymous  Alphabet  Bell  is  my  name," 
says  he,  "and  I'm  a  uncle.  Yes,  sir.  You 
wouldn't  think  to  look  at  me  I  was  an  uncle, 
but  I  am.  My  nephew's  name  is  Jenks. 

18 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Does  any  one  of  you  happen  to  be  named 
Jenks?" 

"I'm  him,  uncle,"  says  I. 

He  stuck  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  I  shook 
with  him. 

"Howdy,  nephew,"  says  he.  "Pleased  to 
make  your  acquaintance."  He  was  that 
polite!  "What's  his  name?"  he  asked,  point- 
ing to  Mark  Tidd. 

I  told  him,  and  they  shook  hands.  After 
that  he  shook  hands  with  Tallow  and  Plunk 
and  acted  like  he  was  tickled  to  death  to  see 
us.  When  he'd  done  shaking  hands  once  he 
commenced  with  me  and  did  it  all  over 
again. 

"Boys!"  says  he,  making  an  exclamation 
of  it.  "I  don't  like  boys.  I  jest  despise 
boys.  You  can  see  I  do,  eh?  Can't  you,  now? 
Tell  it  by  my  manner.  They're  nuisances,  so 
they  be,  but  I  can  tame  'em.  No  monkey- 
shines,  mind,  or  look  out  for  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous  Alphabet  Bell."  After  he  said  this  he 
leaned  up  against  the  side  of  the  depot  and 
laughed  and  shook  and  slapped  his  hand 
against  his  thigh,  but  without  making  a  sound. 
In  a  minnit  he  straightened  up  and  recited 
another  little  poem: 

19 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Oh,  boys  is  a  pest, 
They  give  you  no  rest," 


Mark  was  looking  at  Uncle  Hieronymous 
with  his  eyes  bunging  out,  as  interested  as 
could  be.  His  little  eyes,  almost  hidden  by 
his  fat,  were  twinkling  away,  and  I  could  see 
right  off  that  he  liked  uncle.  That  made  me 
glad,  for  I  liked  uncle,  too.  There  was  some- 
thing that  made  you  sort  of  sorry  for  him. 
I  guess  it  was  because  he  was  so  glad  to  see 
us  fellows.  It  made  you  think  maybe  he  was 
pretty  lonesome. 

"Come  on,"  says  he.  "I  got  an  engage- 
ment with  Marthy  and  Mary,  so  I  got  to 
hustle.  Don't  like  to  break  no  engagements." 

"Girls?"  I  asked,  feeling  sort  of  offish  about 
it. 

"No,"  says  he,  "not  exactly  girls;  nor  yet 
exactly  wimmin."  And  that  was  all  he'd 
say  about  them. 

We  followed  him  over  to  a  railing  where 
he'd  hitched  his  horse  and  wagon.  As  soon 
as  he  came  within  earshot  of  the  horse  he 
began  talking  to  him  just  like  anybody'd 
talk  to  folks. 

"Good  evenin',  Alfred,"  says  he;  and  I 

20 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

thought  that  was  a  funny  name  for  a  horse. 
"I'm  back  again,"  he  says,  "a-bringin'  with 
me  three  medium-sized  boys  and  one  boy 
that  is  a  little  mite — say  about  a  hundred 
pounds — over  the  medium. ' '  He  turned  to  us. 
"Come  over  here,"  he  says,  "and  see  you 
act  your  politest.  I  want  you  should  be 
acquainted  with  Alfred.  Step  right  up.  Al- 
fred, this  here  is  my  nephew,  Binney  Jenks." 

Alfred  lifted  his  head  and  bobbed  it  down 
in  as  fine  a  bow  as  you  ever  saw,  and  he  did 
the  same  thing  when  he  was  introduced  to 
the  other  three. 

"Be  we  glad  to  have  visitors,  Alfred?" 

Alfred  bobbed  his  head  three  times  and 
whickered  the  most  pleased  whicker  I  ever 
heard  a  horse  give. 

Uncle  turned  to  us  solemn.  "It's  all  right, 
fellers,"  says  he.  "I  was  a  mite  bothered 
till  you'd  met  Alfred  and  I  found  out  what  he 
thought  about  you.  If  Alfred  had  took  a 
dislike  to  you  I  don't  know  what  I  ever 
would  have  done.  Alfred  and  Marthy  and 
Mary  sort  of  runs  me,  so  to  speak.  The  way 
they  boss  me  around  is  surprisin*  the  first 
time  you  notice  it." 

We  all  climbed  in  the  wagon  with  our  bag- 

21 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

gage,  and  uncle  leaned  over  the  dash-board 
so  Alfred  could  hear  better. 

"He's  a  leetle  deef,"  uncle  told  us.  Then 
he  spoke  to  the  horse.  "Alfred,"  says  he, 
"I  calc'late  we  better  be  startin'  if  you  feel 
you've  got  rested.  I  don't  want  to  hurry 
you,  but  if  you  feel  you're  ready,  why,  jest 
go  ahead." 

Alfred  turned  his  head  as  though  he  wanted 
to  see  everybody  was  in,  then  he  sort  of 
sighed  and  began  to  go  up  the  road  slow  as 
molasses. 

Pretty  soon  we  came  to  the  town,  which 
was  about  a  half  a  mile  away  from  the  depot 
and  the  hotel.  We  went  through  it  without 
stopping,  and  then  turned  out  into  the  coun- 
try. In  a  few  minutes  we  were  right  in  the 
woods;  not  woods  of  great  big  trees,  but 
woods  of  little  trees.  There  wasn't  anything 
but  woods  any  place,  and  uncle  said  it  was 
that  way  for  miles  and  miles. 

"Nothin*  but  jack-pine  and  scrub-oak," 
says  he.  "Timber's  gone — butchered  off. 
Once,"  says  he,  "you  could  walk  through  here 
for  days  and  never  git  away  from  the  pine." 

We  drove  and  drove  and  drove.  In  places 
it  was  so  dark  we  couldn't  see  Alfred's  tail, 

22 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

but  he  knew  the  way,  and  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  bumps  and  holes  that  jarred  and  joggled 
us  we  would  all  have  been  asleep  before  we 
got  to  uncle's  house. 

But  we  got  there  at  last,  and  it  was  a  log 
cabin.  The  front  door  was  in  the  back,  and 
there  wasn't  any  back  door  in  the  front. 
What  I  mean  is  that  there  wasn't  but  one 
door,  and  that  went  into  the  kitchen. 

"I  figgered  out,"  says  uncle,  "that  the  place 
folks  wanted  to  git  most  often  was  the  kitchen, 
especial  after  comin'  off  the  river,  so  there's 
where  I  put  the  door."  Then  he  recited 
another  poem: 

"This  aT  shack  is  sure  a  dandy; 
Everything  is  neat  and  handy." 

He  led  us  through  to  the  front  of  the  house, 
where  there  was  a  bed  and  two  cots  for  us. 
"Now,"  says  he,  "git  to  bed.  Breakfast's  at 
four,  and  Mary  and  Marthy  '11  be  all  wrought 
up  to  see  you.  Good  night,"  says  he,  and 
off  he  went. 

We  were  so  tired  we  didn't  stop  to  talk, 
but  just  tumbled  into  bed  and  were  off  to 
sleep  in  a  minute. 

23 


CHAPTER  II 

MOST  likely  we  would  have  slept  till 
noon  that  first  morning  at  uncle's  place, 
but  he  didn't  let  us.  Uncle  had  an  idea 
that  day  began  as  soon  as  you  could  see  to 
get  around  without  a  lantern,  and  it  didn't 
seem  to  me  that  I  had  finished  slapping  a 
mosquito  that  buzzed  around  me  before  I 
went  to  sleep  when  somebody  jerked  the 
cover  off  me  and  yelled,  "Grub-pile."  I  got 
one  eye  open  enough  to  see  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous  standing  there  grinning  like  all  git  out, 
and  Mark  and  Tallow  and  Plunk  squirming 
around  disgusted  in  bed. 

"Bacon's  frizzlin',"  says  uncle.  "I  let  you 
oversleep  this  mornin',  figgerin'  you  was  wore 
out.  Come  a-runnin' !  Git  up !  Why,  it  '11 
be  noon  in  a  matter  of  eight  hours!" 

There  was  a  smell  of  something  coming  in 

from  the  kitchen  that  waked  me  up  quick. 

I  got  my  feet  out  on  the  floor  and  looked  over 

at  Mark  Tidd.    He  was  sitting  on  the  bed, 

24 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

with  his  pudgy  nose  pointing  to  the  door  and 
sniffing  away  with  the  happiest  expression 
I  ever  saw  on  his  face.  Part  of  the  smell  was 
bacon,  and  part  of  it  was  frying  potatoes,  but 
the  best  of  it  was  something  else  better  than 
both  of  them  put  together,  and  I  couldn't 
make  out  what  it  was. 

"Hungry?"  says  Uncle  Hieronymous. 

Mark  answered  him.  "I  c-c-could  eat  the 
tail  of  the  whale  that  s-s-swallered  Jonah," 
says  he. 

We  dressed  in  a  hurry  so  we  could  get 
nearer  to  that  smell.  By  the  time  we  were 
washed  uncle  had  everything  on  the  table, 
and  we  rushed  at  it  like  we'd  been  fasting 
for  forty  days  and  forty  nights.  Then  we 
saw  where  the  best  part  of  the  smell  came 
from.  It  was  little  fish  all  brown  and  crisp 
outside — a  heaping  platter  of  them. 

"Troutses,"  says  Uncle  Hieronymous. 
"Leetle  speckled  troutses.  Ketched  by  me 
personal  right  in  my  front  yard,  so  to  speak. 
Got  'em  special  for  you  jest  before  startin' 
to  the  station."  Then  he  made  up  another 
little  poem: 

"When  you  see  a  leetle  trout 
You'd  sooner  eat  than  go  without." 
25 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Nobody  said  another  word  until  there 
wasn't  a  thing  left  on  the  table  but  little 
heaps  of  fish-bones.  Uncle  moved  back  his 
chair  and  grinned,  and  we  all  grinned  back 
at  him.  We  felt  just  like  grinning.  I  don't 
know  when  I've  felt  so  good. 

"Marthy  and  Mary  is  waitin'  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  you,"  uncle  says.  "They're 
peculiar,  Marthy  and  Mary  is — most  exceed- 
in'ly  peculiar — so  you  want  to  be  p'tic'lar 
how  you  act.  I  wouldn't  have  Marthy  and 
Mary  get  a  bad  idea  of  your  mannerses  for 
anythin'." 

He  shut  the  door  tight  and  then  went  to 
the  window. 

"Marthy!"  says  he,  as  loud  as  he  could 
yell.  "Mary!  Comp'ny  to  the  house.  Hey, 
Marthy!  Hey,  Mary!" 

Well,  sir,  we  didn't  know  what  to  expect, 
but  in  a  minnit  two  pure-white  cats  came 
hustling  out  from  among  the  underbrush  with 
their  tails  sticking  straight  up  in  the  air  and 
the  most  interested  expression  on  their  faces 
you  ever  saw. 

"Come  here  to  the  winder,"  says  uncle  to 
me.  He  put  his  head  out  and  spoke  to  the 
cats.  "Marthy  and  Mary,"  says  he,  "this 
26 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

here  young  person  is  my  nephew,  Binney 
Jenks.  Git  the  name — Binney  Jenks." 

The  cats  both  says  "Miau,"  and  reared 
up  on  their  hind  legs  with  their  fore  paws 
against  the  house. 

Uncle  Hieronymous  sort  of  drew  back. 
"Don't  come  a-jumpin*  up  here,"  he  says. 
"I  won't  have  it.  You  know  better  'n  that, 
both  of  you.  This  here  is  Mark  Tidd,"  he 
went  on,  "and  this  is  Tallow  Martin,  and 
this  is  Plunk  Smalley." 

It  didn't  seem  to  me  the  cats  was  much 
interested  in  us,  but  uncle  seemed  to  think 
they  were  all  excited  over  our  being  there. 

" Ree-markable  cats,"  says  he.  "Intelli- 
gent! Oh,  my,  hain't  they  intelligent!  Why, 
boys,  the  amount  of  brains  them  cats  has  got 
would  s'prise  the  legislature  down  to  Lan- 
sing." 

He  went  to  the  stove  and  got  some  fish 
out  of  the  frying-pan.  "Marthy  and  Mary," 
he  says,  important  and  dignified-like,  "I'm 
a-goin'  to  celebrate  this  here  occasion  by 
feedin*  you  troutses.  Troutses  hain't  made 
for  cats,  except  by  way  of  markin'  important 
happenin's.  Chubs  and  perches  is  for  cats, 
with  maybe  a  bass  or  a  pickerel,  but  troutses 
3  27 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

is  for  men  almost  exclusive.  Here's  one 
for  you,  Marthy,  and  here's  one  for  you, 
Mary — and  bear  in  mind,  both  of  you,  that 
you're  much  obleeged  to  these  here  boys, 
Lemme  hear  you  say  much  obleeged." 

Martha  and  Mary  both  said  "Miau,"  but 
I  guess  it  was  because  they  wanted  the  fish 
uncle  was  dangling  over  their  noses. 

"There,"  says  he,  drawing  himself  up  as 
proud  as  a  turkey-gobbler — "there.  Intelli- 
gent, eh?  Never  saw  cats  like  that  before, 
/  bet." 

The  cats  sailed  into  that  fish  as  enthusiastic 
as  we  boys  had  a  little  while  before.  Uncle 
gave  each  of  them  a  couple.  When  they  were 
through  he  spoke  to  them  again. 

"That's  all,"  he  says.  "I  hain't  goin'  to 
give  you  no  more  and  be  responsible  for 
ruinin'  your  stummicks.  Now  go  on  off. 
D'you  hear  me?  Go  on  off  and  catch  mouses 
so's  I  can  come  out." 

"C-c-can't  you  go  out  while  they're  there?" 
Mark  wanted  to  know. 

Uncle  looked  at  him  astonished.    "What? 

Me?   Go  out  with  them  two  cats?"    He  shook 

his  head  two  or  three  times  and  looked  at 

Mark  regretful-like.     "I'm  s'prised  at  you, 

28 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Mark  Tidd.  O'  course  not.  Never.  Why," 
says  he,  "you  can't  never  tell  what  cats  '11 
do — especially  white  cats."  He  wagged  his 
head  again.  I  most  laughed  right  there. 
Think  of  it!  Uncle  Hieronymous  was  afraid 
of  his  cats. 

Marthy  and  Mary  trotted  off  out  of  sight 
as  obedient  as  could  be,  and  uncle  unlocked 
the  door.  It  was  our  first  look  outside. 
Right  in  front  of  the  house,  which  was  made 
of  logs,  was  a  little  stream.  You  could  hear 
it  gurgling  and  pouring  along,  and  it  sounded 
as  pleasantly  and  neighborly  as  could  be. 
All  around  was  woods.  The  house  sat  in  the 
middle  of  a  clearing  a  couple  of  hundred  feet 
wide,  and  beyond  that  all  you  could  see  was 
trees,  trees,  trees.  The  clearing  was  on  a  lit- 
tle rise  of  ground,  and  from  the  door  you 
could  look  off  across  the  brook  for  miles  over 
what  looked  like  a  kind  of  swamp — not  a 
squashy,  boggy  swamp,  but  a  damp  swamp 
where  trees  grew,  and  where,  most  likely,  there 
was  bears  and  maybe  deer. 

"Have  you  lived  here  always,  uncle?"  I 
asked  him. 

"Always?  Me?  Not  always,  not  always, 
by  any  means.  Fifteen  years  ago  I  lived  up  in 
29 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

what  they  call  the  copper  country  now.  Yes, 
sir,  right  amongst  it,  so  to  speak,  only  I 
wasn't  minin'.  Not  me.  I  owned  a  forty  of 
timber  and  logged  it  a  spell.  Then  along 
come  a  feller  and  offered  me  a  price  for  it,  and 
I  up  and  sold  to  him.  Yes,  sir,  sold  out  bag 
and  baggage.  No  I  didn't,  neither."  He 
commenced  to  laugh  kind  of  as  if  there  was 
a  joke  on  somebody.  "Friend  of  mine,  he 
advised  me  I  should  keep  the  mineral  rights, 
and,  by  gum!  I  own  'em  to  this  very  day. 
Me!  Mineral  rights.  Haw!" 

"What's  m-m-mineral  rights?"  It  was 
Mark  asked  him  of  course.  None  of  the  rest 
of  us  cared  a  whoop  what  mineral  rights  were, 
but  Mark  wasn't  that  way.  You  never  could 
go  mentioning  anything  strange  around  him 
without  being  made  to  put  in  a  spell  explain- 
ing it. 

"Mineral  rights,"  says  Uncle  Hieronymous, 
"is  the  rights  to  the  minerals  and  metals  and 
sich  a-hidin'  in  the  ground  under  a  piece  of 
prop'ty.  One  feller  can  own  the  trees,  another 
can  own  the  land,  and  another  can  own  what- 
ever happens  to  be  found  tinder  the  land. 
And  that's  what  I  own  yet.  Haw!  If  some- 
body was  to  up  and  find  a  dTmond-mme  on 
30 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

that  al'  forty,  who  in  the  world  would  it  b'long 
to?  Why,  to  me,  Hieronymous  Alphabet  Bell, 
and  to  nobody  else  that  walks  on  two  laigs." 

Mark  nodded  that  he  understood,  and  then 
Uncle  Hieronymous  wanted  to  know  what 
we  figured  on  doing  that  day. 

"L-1-let's  explore,"  says  Mark. 

"We'll  git  lost,"  says  I. 

"Shucks.  We  won't  go  b-b-back  into  the 
woods.  We'll  just  go  along  the  b-b-brook." 

" Good  idee,"  says  uncle.  "Get  acquainted 
with  the  neighborhood,  so  to  speak.  When- 
ever you  git  back  '11  be  time  to  eat.  If  you 
get  lost  whistle  like  this,"  and  he  showed  us 
a  whistle  that  went,  "  Wheel,  wheel,  wheel,  whee, 
hoo."  "Reg'lar  old  lumber-camp  signal,"  he 
says. 

"D-don't  you  want  to  come?"  Mark  asked 
him. 

"Me?  Goodness,  no!  Couldn't  spare  the 
time.  Couldn't  spare  a  minnit.  Got  a  lot 
of  thinkin'  to  do  to-day,  and  consid'able  news- 
paper-readin',  to  say  nothin'  of  washin'  dishes 
and  catchin'  a  mess  of  fish.  No,  I  don't  guess 
I  got  any  time  to  spare.  Why,  there's  things 
I've  been  plannin'  to  think  about  for  weeks, 
and  puttin*  off  and  puttin'  off.  I  picked  to- 
31 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

day  to  study  over  'em,  and  it's  got  to  be  done. 
I  got  to  git  out  there  and  lay  onto  my  back 
and  figger  out  what  I'd  'a'  done  if  ever  I'd 
got  elected  to  Congress,  and  what  keeps  one 
of  these  here  airyplanes  up  in  the  air;  and 
another  important  p'int  is  why  dogs  wag 
their  tails  when  they're  tickled  and  cats  when 
they're  mad.  You  kin  see  I  got  my  hands  full. 

"Some  folks  sit  and  think  and  think, 
And  some  folks  writes  it  down  with  ink," 

he  finished  up.  "  Them  that  thinks  and  writes 
it  down,"  he  says,  "is  authors  and  poets  and 
philosophers,  and  them  that  jest  thinks  is 
loafers." 

We  were  just  getting  ready  to  start  out 
when  a  man  that  uncle  called  Billy  came 
driving  up  in  a  rickety  buggy.  As  soon  as  he 
got  in  sight  he  began  to  yell  at  us,  but  we 
couldn't  understand  what  he  was  talking 
about.  When  he  got  close  to  the  house  he 
drew  up  and  yelled  louder  than  ever: 

"Feller  name  of  Collins  here?" 

1 '  No, ' '  says  uncle,  scratching  his  chin.  ' '  We 
got  a  lot  of  names  around,  but  Collins  hain't 
one  of  'em.  Maybe  some  other  '11  do." 

"It's  a  telegraft,"  says  Billy,  '"and  a 
32 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

dummed  funny  one,  too.  None  of  the  boys 
around  town  could  make  head  or  tail  to 
it.  Collins  was  the  name.  Left  word  to  the 
hotel  he  was  goin'  to  stop  somewheres  on 
the  Middle  Branch.  Mighty  funny  telegraft. 
Wisht  I  knowed  what  it  was  about." 

"Maybe  he's  up  to  Larsen's,"  says  uncle. 
"I've  knowed  folks  to  stop  there  that  wouldn't 
hesitate  a  minnit  to  get  telegrafts.  Why, 
Billy,  a  feller  there  got  a  express  parcel  once." 

Billy  held  a  yellow  envelope  in  his  hand 
and  shook  his  head  at  it.  "Dummed  pecu- 
liar!" he  says.  "The  only  words  of  sense  to 
it  is  that  somebody's  comin'  t'  meet  him. 
Want  to  see  it?" 

"Dun'no's  I  do,  Billy,"  says  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous.  "I  got  most  too  much  to  figger  about 
now  without  havin'  more  added  unnecessary." 

"Mysterious,  I  call  it,"  Billy  says,  and 
shook  up  his  horses.  "You  bet  you  I'm 
a-goin'  to  ask  the  feller  what's  the  meanin' 
of  it." 

We  watched  Billy  till  he  went  out  of  sight 
around  a  bend  in  the  sandy  road ;  then  Mark 
Tidd,  with  his  little  eyes  twinkling  the  way 
they  do  when  he  sees  something  more  than 
ordinary  funny,  says:  "We  b-b-better  get 
33 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

started.  There's  consid'able  j-jungle  to  ex- 
plore." 

Right  off  we  knew  Mark  was  going  to  pre- 
tend we  were  over  in  Africa  or  somewheres 
plugging  along  through  a  forest  where  the 
foot  of  white  man  had  never  trod  or  shot  a 
gun  or  built  a  fire.  [Note,  by  Mark  Tidd: 
Must  have  been  a  trained  foot.] 

"I'll  g-go  first,"  says  Mark.  "Binney,  you 
be  the  r-rear-guard.  Plunk  will  watch  to  the 
right,  and  Tallow  to  the  1-left." 

So  we  started  up-stream,  keeping  close  to 
the  water  for  fear  of  getting  lost. 

"Keep  your  eye  p-peeled  for  boa-constric- 
tors," says  Mark.  "  Right  here  we  don't  need 
worry  about  n-n-natives,  'cause  this  part  of 
the  jungle  is  full  of  b-big  snakes.  Natives 
is  terrified  of  snakes.  If  you  begin  to  f-f-feel 
funny,  lemme  know.  More'n  likely  it  '11  be 
a  boa-constrictor  t-tryin*  to  charm  you.  They 
kin  do  it.  Yes,  sir,  they  kin  sit  off  a  hundred 
feet  and  look  at  a  man  with  them  b-beady 
eyes  of  their'n  and  ch-ch-charm  you  so's  you 
can't  move." 

It  made  us  sort  of  shiver,  because  you  never 
know  what  you're  going  to  bump  into  in  the 
woods,  especially  woods  you  don't  know  any- 

34 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

thing  about.  I  never  heard  of  any  boa-con- 
strictors in  Michigan,  but  that  wasn't  any 
reason  why  some  couldn't  be  there.  There's 
lots  in  South  America,  and  if  one  took  a  notion 
to  crawl  up  to  Baldwin  I  couldn't  see  anything 
to  stop  him.  It  would  be  quite  a  crawl  for 
an  ordinary  snake,  but  a  boa-constrictor,  be- 
ing so  big,  ought  not  to  have  much  trouble 
about  it. 

"I'll  be  glad,"  says  I,  "when  the  Panama 
Canal  is  done." 

"Why?"  Mark  asked. 

"'Cause  boa-constrictors  won't  be  able  to 
get  acrost  it,"  I  says.  "It  '11  be  a  purtection 
to  the  folks  of  the  United  States  against  the 
savage  beasts  that  live  in  the  Amazon  jungles 
when  they're  to  home." 

Mark  grinned.  "I  hain't  n-never  heard 
that  exact  reason  given,"  says  he,  "for  buildin' 
a  canal,  b-b-but  I  dun'no'  but  it's  as  good  as 
a  lot  of  others." 

We  went  hiking  along  for  another  half  an 
hour.  All  of  a  sudden  Mark  stopped  and 
held  up  his  ringer.  "S-s-s-savages,"  he  whis- 
pered. In  a  jiffy  we  were  all  lying  on  our 
stummicks  in  the  high  grass,  for,  sure  enough, 
we  could  hear  a  splashing  in  the  stream 
35 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

that  meant  somebody  or  something  was  com- 
ing down  toward  us. 

Almost  without  breathing  we  waited. 
Nearer  and  nearer  the  sound  came,  until  a 
man  showed  up  around  the  bend.  He  was 
wading  right  in  the  stream  and  flopping  a 
fish-pole  back  and  forth  in  the  most  ridicu- 
lous way  you  ever  saw.  He'd  snap  his  line 
ahead  till  it  touched  the  water  and  then 
snap  it  back  and  then  snap  it  ahead  again. 
Just  like  cracking  a  whip  it  was. 

"Acts  crazy,"  I  says  to  Mark. 

"Crazy  nothin',"  he  says.  "That's  the 
way  you  c-c-cast  a  fly.  He's  trout-f-f-fishin'." 

"Oh,"  says  I,  and  watched  him,  more 
interested  than  ever.  I'd  heard  about  fly- 
casting,  but  somehow  I  hadn't  expected  to 
see  anybody  actually  doing  it.  The  man 
was  maybe  a  hundred  yards  off,  but  we  could 
see  he  had  funny  boots  on  that  came  way  up 
under  his  shoulders.  There  was  a  little  net 
hanging  from  his  belt,  and  a  basket  with  a 
cover  over  his  shoulder.  Pretty  soon  I  heard 
Mark  grunt  surprised-like. 

"What's  matter?"  I  asked  him. 

"Know  who  he  is?"  Mark  asked. 

I  looked  close.  The  sun  came  through  a 
36 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOO'PS 

place  in  the  trees  and  shone  right  on  his  face, 
and  I  recognized  the  man.  It  wasn't  anybody 
in  the  world  but  the  Mr.  Collins  that  helped 
us  pull  Mark  out  of  the  wreck. 

"It  was  him  the  t - 1 - telegraft  was  for," 
Mark  says  to  himself. 

In  five  minutes  Collins  was  almost  in  front 
of  us.  The  water  was  to  his  waist,  and  he 
was  wading  slow.  All  of  a  sudden  he  stopped 
and  pulled  his  pole  up  into  the  air.  About 
thirty  feet  ahead  of  him  i  something  splashed 
in  the  water,  and  I  could  see  his  pole  was  bent 
way  over. 

"He's  g-g-got  one,"  Mark  says,  excited. 

Sure  enough,  he  had.  It  looked  like  a  big 
one  the  way  it  pulled  and  jumped  and  sloshed 
around.  Collins  reeled  and  splashed  around 
considerable  himself,  all  the  time  getting 
closer  to  where  we  were.  Then  before  you 
could  say  "Bingo"  he  stepped  on  something 
slippery — a  smooth  stone,  I  guess — and  let 
out  a  yell.  His  feet  went  up  and  he  went 
down  ker-splashl  For  a  second  he  floundered 
around  like  a  hog  in  a  puddle,  throwing  water 
all  over  the  scenery,  but  he  scrambled  back 
onto  his  feet,  with  his  pole  still  in  his  hand. 

"He  h-held  it  out  of  water  all  the  t-t-time," 
37 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

says  Mark,  sort  of  admiringly.     "He's  the 
stick-to-it  kind." 

It's  the  way  a  fellow  acts  when  he's  alone 
that  counts.  Collins  might  have  got  mad 
and  shook  his  fist  and  talked  strong  language, 
but  he  didn't.  He  just  grinned  kind  of  sheep- 
ish and  went  right  on  working  with  his  fish 
till  he  got  it  close  to  him.  Then  he  grabbed 
his  little  net  and  scooped  it  up. 

"Whoop!"  says  he,  taking  it  in  his  hand. 
"Ten  inches,  and  speckled!" 

Mark  stood  up.  "D-do  you  always  catch 
'em  that  way?"  he  asked.  "I  never  fished  for 
trout,  but  if  it's  n-n-necessary  to  dive  after 
'em  I  calc'late  I'll  st-stick  to  perch." 

Collins  grinned  first  and  then  said:  "Hello! 
What  you  doing  here?" 

"Explorin',"  says  Mark. 

"Stopping  near?" 

Mark  jerked  his  thumb  back  toward  Uncle 
Hieronymous's. 

"Who  with?" 

"His  uncle,"  says  Mark,  pointing  to  me. 

Collins  looked  more  than  ordinary  inter- 
ested. "Lemme  see,  you  told  me  his  name 
back  on  the  train,  didn't  you?  I  don't  re- 
member it." 

38 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"D-d-don't  b'lieve  I  did,"  says  Mark. 

"It's  Hieronymous  Alphabet  Bell,"  says  I, 
and  Mark  reached  out  with  his  foot  and 
kicked  me.  The  grass  was  so  high  Collins 
couldn't  see  him  do  it. 

"Oh,"  says  Collins,  and  he  waded  to  shore. 
"Want  to  see  my  fish?" 

We  looked  at  it.  It  was  a  beauty,  slender 
and  graceful-like,  with  pretty  red  spots  all 
down  its  sides. 

Collins  sat  down  and  talked  to  us  about  fish 
and  bears  and  deer  and  the  woods,  and  then, 
the  first  we  knew,  he'd  got  the  conversation 
around  to  Uncle  Hieronymous.  Mark  looked 
at  me  and  scowled,  but  I  couldn't  see  why. 

"He  lives  all  alone,  mostly,"  I  told  Collins, 
when  he  asked. 

"I  hear  he's  quite  an  interesting  character, 
Collins  said.  "Guess  I'll  stop  in  and  see  him 
on  my  way  down-stream.  He  won't  chase 
me  out,  will  he?" 

I  was  just  going  to  tell  him  uncle  would  be 
glad  to  see  him  when  Mark  spoke  up: 

"D-d-dun'no's  I'd  disturb  him  to-day," 
says  he.  "He's  doin'  somethin'  special,  and 
he's  apt  to  take  a  dislike  to  anybody  that 
in-interrupts  him." 

39 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Oh,"  says  Collins.  "I  better  put  it  off, 
then." 

"Calc'late  so,"  says  Mark. 

"Well,  guess  I'll  start  along.  I'm  going  to 
be  here  a  few  days — up  at  Larsen's.  Come 
to  see  me." 

We  said  we  would,  and  he  started  on  down 
the  stream. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  Mark  got 
up  quick — quicker  than  I've  seen  him  move 
in  a  dog's  age — and  ran  down-stream  maybe 
fifty  feet,  and  then,  right  at  the  edge  of  the 
water,  he  stooped  over  and  picked  something 
up.  From  where  I  was  I  could  see  it  was 
yellow.  He  sat  right  down  and  put  it  on  his 
knee  and  began  smoothing  it  out.  We  hurried 
over  to  see  what  he  was  up  to. 

"What  you  got?"  Tallow  asked. 

Mark  grinned  and  held  up  a  yellow  piece 
of  paper. 

"  Telegraft,"  says  he.  "  G-guess  it's  the  one 
Billy  b-b-brought." 

"Collins  drop  it?"  I  wanted  to  know. 

"I  hain't  seen  n-nobody  else  go  by,"  says 
Mark. 

"What's  it  say?" 

He'd  got  it  all  smoothed  out  now,  and, 
40 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

though  it  was  sopping  wet  and  the  ink  had 
run  quite  a  lot,  he  could  read  it.  For  a 
minnit  he  didn't  say  a  word,  but  he  had  the 
most  peculiar  look  on  his  face. 

"Well?"  says  I. 

He  handed  it  over.  At  first  I  couldn't  make 
head  or  tail  of  it.  The  last  words  were  plain 
enough — "Coming  by  first  train" — and  the 
name  that  was  signed  was  Billings,  but  the 
first  part  was  Chinese  to  me.  All  the  same, 
it  kind  of  reminded  me  of  something. 

"Huh!"  says  I.    "What's  it  about?" 

Mark  pulled  another  paper  out  of  his  pocket 
and  handed  it  to  me.  It  was  the  sheet  of 
letter  he  picked  up  near  the  wreck. 

"  C-c-c-compare  'em,"  says  he,  with  a  pe- 
culiar grin. 

I  did,  and  the  figures  and  letters  were  the 
identical  same:  "The  S.  40  of  the  N.  W. 
X  of  Sec.  6,  Town  I  north,  R.  4  west."  I 
was  a  mite  startled,  but,  for  all  that,  I 
couldn't  see  what  there  was  to  be  star- 
tled about.  I  guess  it  was  the  way  Mark 
acted. 

"There's  s-somethin'  up,"  says  he.  "I  bet 
a  penny  it's  got  somethin'  to  do  with  your 
uncle."  He  pinched  his  cheek  and  squinted 
41 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

his  eyes  like  he  always  does  when  he's  think- 
ing, and  then  wagged  his  head. 

"I  don't  1-like  his  looks.  He's  too  durnmed 
g-g-good-natured. ' ' 

"But  what's  it  all  about?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  he  says,  impatient. 
"I  .got  to  find  out  what  these  letters  and 
figgers  mean,  hain't  I?  Then  maybe  I  can 
sort  of  git  an  idee  what  he's  thrashin'  around 
for." 

He  got  up  and  stuffed  both  pieces  of  paper 
into  his  pocket. 

"  Let's  finish  exploring  and  g-git  back,"  says 
he.  "I'm  beginnin'  to  g-g-git  hungry." 


CHAPTER  III 

WHEN  we  got  home  Uncle  Hieronymous 
was  laying  flat  on  his  back  by  the  side 
of  the  stream,  with  his  eyes  shut  and  the 
pleasantest  smile  on  his  face.  He  looked  like 
everything  he  wanted  in  the  world  had  walked 
right  up  and  sat  down  in  his  lap.  When  he 
heard  us  coming  he  sat  up  and  sort  of  wrig- 
gled his  eyes  to  get  them  wide  open,  and 
made  a  funny  motion  at  us  with  his  hands. 
Then,  right  off,  he  made  up  a  leetle  poem: 

"Here  they  come  with  tired  feet, 
Mosqttiter-bites,  and  a  wish  to  eat." 

He  got  up  slow,  kind  of  one  piece  of  him 
at  a  time,  it  looked,  and  then  said: 

"Hungry,  eh?  I  bet  you.  What  '11  you 
eat?  Will  you  have  beefsteak,  chicken-pie, 
strawberry  short-cake,  noodel  soup,  or  bacon 
and  eggs?"  He  reached  around  and  scratched 
the  back  of  his  neck  and  winked  one  eye 
at  the  house.  "If  I  was  four  boys  with  hol- 

4  43 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

lows  into  their  stummicks  I'd  pick  out  bacon 
and  eggs,  I  would.  'Cause  why?  'Cause 
that's  what  they're  goin'  to  get.  Now,  each 
one  of  you  take  your  choice." 

11  N-n-name  over  those  things  again,  please," 
Mark  asked  him. 

Uncle  did  it  as  patient  as  could  be.  Mark 
thought  careful,  going  over  every  one  in  his 
mind,  then,  as  solemn  as  a  screech-owl,  he 
says,  "I  guess  b-b-bacon  and  eggs  look  best 
to  me." 

Uncle  nodded  and  looked  at  the  rest  of  us. 
We  spoke  up  for  bacon  and  eggs  right  off 
without  thinking  over  the  other  things,  which 
seemed  to  satisfy  Uncle  Hieronymous  all 
right. 

"Will  you  have  'em  baked,  b'iled,  fried,  or 
stewed?" 

"Fried,  p-p-please,"  says  Mark.  "Once  on 
the  top  and  once  on  the  b-bottom."  . 

The  rest  of  us  took  the  same,  and  uncle 
went  in  to  start  a  fire  and  begin  his  cooking. 
While  he  was  at  it  we  walked  over  to  the 
little  tumbledown  barn  off  at  a  corner  of  the 
clearing.  It  looked  as  if  something  big  and 
powerful  had  come  along  and  given  it  a 
push,  because  it  was  all  squee-geed.  Boards 

44 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

were  off,  and  what  shingles  were  left  stayed 
on  the  roof  because  they  wanted  to  and  not 
because  they  had  to.  Mark  peeked  inside. 

"  W-what's  that?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

The  rest  of  us  crowded  around  and  then 
pushed  inside.  It  was  pretty  dim  in  there, 
but  as  soon  as  our  eyes  got  used  to  it  we 
could  see  a  long  white  thing  laying  across 
the  beams  above  our  heads. 

"Looks  like  a  boat,"  says  I. 

Tallow  Martin  lighted  a  match  and  held 
it  up  so  we  could  see.  Sure  enough  it  was  a 
boat — &  canoe. 

1 '  W- wonder  what  it's  doing  here, ' '  says  Mark. 

"Let's  ask  Uncle  Hieronymous,"  I  says. 

So  we  went  off  to  the  house,  where  uncle  was 
standing  over  the  stove,  breaking  an  egg 
into  a  frying-pan. 

"'Tain't  ready  yet,"  says  he,  as  we  came 
into  the  kitchen. 

"We  was  just  out  in  the  barn,"  I  says,  "and 
we  saw  a  canoe  up  on  the  beams.  Does  it 
belong  to  you?" 

"Well,  now,  lemme  see.  Does  that  there 
curi'us  leetle  boat  b'long  to  me  or  not?  Now, 
does  it?  If  you  was  guessin'  how  would  you 
guess?" 

45 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"I'd  guess  it  did,"  I  says. 

"Then,"  says  he,  "you'd  be  wrong,  for  it 
don't.  At  any  rate,  it  didn't,  last  time  I 
looked  at  it.  But  canoes  is  peculiar  critters — 
no  tellin'  what  it's  up  and  done  regardin*  its 
ownership  in  nigh  onto  two  months." 
•  "Can  we  use  it,  uncle?" 

1 '  Use  it  ?  You  don't  mean  git  into  the  thing 
on  the  water?  Into  that  there  tipsy,  oncer- 
tain,  wabbly  leetle  boat?  Would  you  dast?" 

"S-s-sure,"  says  Mark.  "I  learned  to  pad- 
dle one  two  years  ago." 

"Then,"  says  uncle,  "I  guess  nobody  '11 
objec'  serious  to  fussin'  around  in  it.  Feller 
left  it  here  two  years  ago  and  hain't  never 
called  for  it.  Go  ahead,  boys,  and  do  your 
worst." 

The  egg  had  been  sizzling  away  in  the 
frying-pan.  Uncle  poked  at  it  with  a  fork, 
and  then,  quicker  than  a  wink,  he  took  hold 
of  the  handle  of  the  pan,  gave  it  a  little  flip, 
and,  would  you  believe  it,  that  egg  turned 
over  just  as  neat  and  settled  down  on  its 
face.  I  heard  Mark  chuckle.  Uncle  looked 
sort  of  surprised. 

"D-d-do  you  always  turn  them  like  that?" 
Mark  asked. 

46 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"How  would  a  feller  turn  an  egg?"  uncle 
wanted  to  know. 

"Well,"  says  Mark,  "after  seeing  it  done 
like  that  I  don't  know's  there's  any  way 
quite  so  g-g-good.  Anyhow,  n-n-none  so 
interest  in'." 

In  about  five  minutes  the  eggs,  with  fried 
potatoes  and  bacon  and  coffee,  were  ready, 
and  we  put  them  where  they  were  wanting  to 
go.  Uncle  gathered  up  what  was  left,  and 
when  he  had  shut  the  door  tight  he  called 
Martha  and  Mary  and  gave  it  to  them. 

"Can  we  get  the  canoe  down  now?"  I 
asked  uncle. 

"You  can  git  it  down  any  time  you  want  to 
exceptin'  yestiddy.  I  don't  allow  nobody  to 
do  anything  yestiddy  around  this  house.  No, 
sir.  Not  a  single,  solitary  thing.  That's  how 
set  in  my  ways  I  am." 

We  all  went  out  to  the  barn,  uncle  bringing 
a  ladder  with  him.  He  set  it  up  against  a 
beam,  and  in  no  time  the  canoe  was  down 
on  the  ground. 

"Kind  of  a  slimpsy-lookin'  thing,"  he  says, 
disgusted-like. 

"Where's  the  p-p-p-paddles?"  Mark  wanted 
to  know. 

47 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Under  the  bed,"  says  uncle,  and  I  ran  to 
get  them. 

We  hauled  the  canoe  down  and  put  it  in 
the  water,  but  right  away  it  began  to  leak, 
so  we  dragged  it  out  again  and  asked  uncle 
for  some  paint.  He  said  green  paint  was  all 
he  had.  Mark  allowed  that  green  paint 
wasn't  exactly  suitable  for  a  canoe,  but  any 
paint  was  better  than  no  paint,  so  uncle  got 
a  can  and  a  brush  off  a  shelf  in  the  kitchen 
and  brought  them  out  to  us. 

We  put  the  canoe  up  on  a  couple  of  logs 
and  started  in  to  paint,  but  after  we  had  been 
at  it  a  couple  of  minutes  Uncle  Hieronymous 
shook  his  head  and  grunted.  Then  he  recited 
another  poem: 

"  Don't  think  that  that's  the  way  to  paint, 
Because,  my  friends,  it  surely  hain't." 

Then  he  took  the  brush  away  from  Tallow, 
who  had  it  at  that  particular  minute,  and  told 
us  to  clear  out  while  he  did  a  job  of  painting 
that  would  be  a  credit  to  the  state  of  Michi- 
gan, even  if  the  Governor  were  to  come  along 
to  see  it,  with  all  the  legislature  marching  in 
circles  around  his  hat-brim. 

We  decided  to  explore  down-stream  this 
48 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOOD.S 

time.  Just  as  we  were  starting  out  from  the 
house  Billy  came  driving  along  with  a  fat  man 
on  the  seat  beside  him.  Not  just  a  big  man, 
but  a  man  that  was  as  fat  as  Mark  Tidd. 
Billy  called  to  us  and  waved  his  hand,  and 
we  waved  back.  Then  we  started  out. 

"  C-c-couldn't  mistake  that  feller  on  a 
d-d-dark  night,"  says  Mark. 

"It  ain't  apt  to  matter  whether  we  do  or 
not,"  I  told  him. 

"  N-n-n-never  can  tell.  He's  the  man  that's 
comin'  to  help  out  Collins.  Wish  I  knew  what 
those  letters  and  figures  in  that  telegram  were 
about." 

"Oh,  come  on,  and  forget  about  that. 
Let's  find  out  what  kind  of  country  is  down 
that  way." 

To  go  down-stream  we  had  to  take  a  path 
through  heavy  underbrush.  Most  of  the  time 
we  had  to  force  our  way  because  the  bushes 
were  trying  to  cover  the  path.  It  wasn't 
very  light,  and  it  was  boggy.  About  a  hundred 
yards  ahead  we  came  to  a  little  brook  that 
emptied  into  the  Middle  Branch,  with  two 
saplings  across  it  for  a  bridge.  I  was  going 
ahead.  No  sooner  had  I  stepped  my  foot  off 
the  far  end  of  the  bridge  than  something 
49 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

began  to  thrash  around  and  rustle  the  reeds 
right  under  my  feet,  and  all  of  a  sudden  a  lit- 
tle animal  about  as  big  as  a  dog,  or  maybe  a 
cat,  jumped  up  and  whisked  out  of  sight. 
He  scared  me  almost  out  of  my  wits. 

"What  was  that?"  says  I. 
'  "That,"  says  Marie,  "was  a  f-f -full-grown 
g-grizzly  bear." 

"G'wan!"  says  I.  "There  ain't  no  bears 
around  here." 

"Maybe  not,"  says  Mark,  in  a  whisper, 
"but  there's  something  else."  He  pointed, 
and  there,  across  the  stream,  not  more  than 
a  couple  of  hundred  feet  off,  were  two  little 
deer  and  a  big  one. 

Well,  it  startled  all  of  us.  Somehow  until 
then  we  didn't  realize  we  really  were  in  the 
woods — the  real,  genuine,  wild  woods  where 
big  animals  might  be.  I  thought  over  what  I'd 
said  about  bears  and  sort  of  changed  my  mind. 

"You  can't  tell,"  I  whispered  back;  "maybe 
there  is  bears." 

The  deer  smelled  us,  I  guess,  and  off  they 
went,  running  with  the  funniest,  jumpiest  gait 
you  ever  saw. 

"Did  you  notice,"  asked  Mark,  "that  he 
asked  w-w-who  we  were?" 
so 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Who  asked?"  Tallow  wanted  to  know. 

"The  f-fat  man  in  Billy's  wagon.  I  could 
see  him  asking  Billy." 

"Huh!"  says  I,  and  on  we  went. 

After  a  while  the  ground  got  higher,  and 
about  two  miles  down  we  came  to  a  place 
where  the  banks  of  the  stream  were  maybe 
forty  or  fifty  feet  high.  Then  the  stream 
widened  out  into  a  big  pool  and  curved  off  to 
the  right.  It  was  a  dandy  place.  We  sat 
down,  with  our  feet  hanging  over,  and  looked 
at  the  water.  I  noticed  some  black  spots 
that  moved  around  here  and  there  toward 
the  lower  end  of  the  pool  where  there  wasn't 
any  current,  and  after  a  while  I  got  it  through 
my  head  they  were  fish — trout.  Great  big 
fellows  they  were.  I  showed  them  to  the 
other  three,  and  we  sat  looking  at  them,  watch- 
ing how  they  stayed  right  around  that  spot, 
having  a  sort  of  fish  meeting,  I  guess. 

The  sun  was  shining  bright  right  down  on 
the  water,  so  that  we  could  see  to  the  bottom 
where  the  current  didn't  make  a  ripple.  It 
was  pretty  deep  in  spots,  too,  where  the  water 
rushing  down  had  scooped  out  a  hole.  It 
swept  around  that  corner  faster  than  any- 
where above. 

Si 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Here  comes  somebody,"  says  Tallow,  and, 
sure  enough,  down-stream  waded  a  man,  cast- 
ing away  just  like  we  had  seen  Collins  do 
in  the  morning.  He  was  an  old  man — we 
could  tell  by  the  way  he  carried  his  shoulders — 
and  he  looked  tall.  He  came  along,  paying  no 
attention  to  anything  but  his  casting,  wading 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  stream.  We 
watched  him  without  saying  anything  until 
he  was  almost  under  us. 

"If  he  don't  look  out  he's  going  to  wade 
right  into  that  hole,"  says  Plunk  Martin,  but 
nobody  thought  to  do  anything  except  Mark, 
and  he  yelled  down : 

"L-l-look  out,  mister.  You're  goin'  to 
s-s-step  into  a  hole." 

The  man  stopped,  looked  up,  took  another 
step,  and  sort  of  stumbled.  Then  he  recovered 
his  balance  and  waded  to  shore,  but  his  land- 
ing-net had  got  loose  from  his  belt  and  was 
floating  down  without  his  noticing  it. 

"You've  lost  your  net,"  Tallow  yelled. 

The  old  gentleman  started  after  it,  but  the 
water  got  deeper  and  the  current  dragged 
at  him  pretty  strong.  He  was  going  to 
keep  on,  though,  until  Mark  called  to  him 
again. 


MARK  TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

"It  '11  lodge  right  there  in  the  b-b-brush- 
heap,"  he  says. 

We  all  scrambled  down  the  bank  to  where 
the  old  gentleman  was.  He  smiled  at  us 
pleasant-like,  and  said:  "Much  obliged,  boys. 
I'd  have  got  a  good  ducking  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you,  and  a  ducking  is  no  joke  at  my  age." 

" There,"  says  Mark,  "your  net's c-c-caught. 
Go  get  it,  Binney." 

I  scrambled  around  the  shore  to  the  brush- 
pile  and  crawled  out  to  where  the  net  was. 
It  was  easy  to  get. 

"Camping  around  here?"  asked  the  old 
gentleman.  I  guess  he  was  close  to  seventy, 
because  his  hair  and  mustache  were  white  as 
could  be.  He  was  a  nice-looking  old  gentle- 
man, with  blue  eyes  that  looked  like  they 
were  twinkling  at  you,  and  a  big  nose.  Not 
a  homely  nose,  but  a  big  one  that  looked  as 
though  he  amounted  to  something. 

"We're  staying  with  my  uncle  Hierony- 
mous,"  I  told  him. 

He  sat  down  on  the  bank  to  talk  with  us. 
It  turned  out  his  name  was  Macmillan  and 
that  he  was  a  lawyer  in  Ludington,  which  is 
about  forty  or  fifty  miles  farther,  and  on  the 
shore  of  Lake  Michigan.  Right  off  when  he 
53 


MARK  TIDD  IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

said  he  was  a  lawyer  Mark  was  interested. 
I  could  see  it  by  the  way  he  squinted  his  little 
eyes  and  pulled  on  his  fat  cheek. 

"M-m-mister  Macmillan,''  says  Mark,  "I 
want  to  show  you  s-somethin'." 

"All  right,  my  son,  go  ahead." 

"I  want  to  f-f-find  out  what  it  is,  because 
it  may  b-be  important." 

"Let's  have  a  look,  then." 

Mark  took  a  paper  out  of  his  pocket  and 
gave  it  to  Mr.  Macmillan.  "I've  been  won- 
derin'  w-w-what  kind  of  a  cipher  that  is," 
says  he,  "or  w-w-what  it  is  if  it  isn't  a  cipher. 
It  m-m-means  somethin'." 

" '  The  S.  40  of  the  N.  W.  %  of  Sec.  6,  Town 
i  north,  R.  4  west.'  Hum.  Does  look  mys- 
terious, doesn't  it.  But,  my  son,  like  a  lot  of 
things  that  look  mysterious,  it  isn't  so  a  bit 
when  you  know  about  it.  That  is  nothing 
but  the  description  of  land.  You  know  there 
has  to  be  some  way  of  describing  every  farm, 
no  matter  what  its  size  or  shape  may  be, 
so  that  everybody  will  know  just  where  to 
find  it.  Well,  this  cipher,  as  you  call  it, 
describes  a  farm  of  forty  acres  that  is  the 
northwest  part  of  Section  Six  of  township 
number  one  west  of  range  seventeen.  That's 
54 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

all.  Did  you  think  it  was  telling  where  hid- 
den treasure  was  hidden?" 

Mark  shook  hi?  head.  "Maybe  'tis,"  says 
he,  and  all  the  afternoon  we  couldn't  get 
another  word  out  of  him. 

The  rest  of  us  talked  with  Mr.  Macmillan 
and  listened  to  stories  about  where  he'd  fished 
and  hunted,  and  all  about  how  this  part  of 
the  state  used  to  be  a  great  pine  forest  that 
was  butchered  off  and  floated  down-stream  to 
the  mills.  I  tell  you  it  was  interesting.  It 
began  to  get  late  before  he  was  half  through, 
and  he  had  to  start  for  the  place  where  his 
team  was  hitched. 

"If  you  come  to  Ludington,"  says  he,  "drop 
in  to  see  me." 

We  said  we  surely  would. 

"And  you,  young  man,"  says  he  to  Mark, 
"when  you  have  any  more  mysteries  to  clear 
up  just  let  me  know." 

Mark  nodded  as  sober  as  could  be.  Any- 
body would  think  he  expected  to  have  a 
couple  of  mysteries  every  day. 

Mr.  Macmillan  went  off,  and  we  turned 
back  home.  As  soon  as  we  got  in  sight  of  the 
house  we  saw  uncle  had  company. 


55 


CHAPTER  IV 

TWO  men  were  sitting  on  the  steps,  and 
uncle,  tilted  back  in  a  chair,  was  facing 
them.     Nobody  seemed  to  be  saying  anything 
as  we  came  up.     When  we  were  right  close 
uncle  turned  and  grinned  at  us. 

"  Comp'ny,  boys,"  says  he.  Then  he  poked 
his  finger  at  one  visitor.  "Jerry  Yack,"  he 
says,  and  Jerry  jerked  his  head.  Uncle 
prodded  at  the  other  man.  "Ole  Skoog,"  he 
says,  and  Ole  jerked  his  head  just  like  Jerry 
did.  Uncle  clean  forgot  to  mention  our  names 
at  all.  It  was  pretty  much  of  a  one-sided 
introduction,  I  thought. 

We  sat  down,  and  nobody  said  a  word. 
I  could  see  Mark  Tidd  studying  Ole  and  Jerry 
and  sort  of  shaking  his  head  over  them  like 
he  couldn't  make  them  out.  They  did  nothing 
but  sit  and  look  straight  in  front  of  them. 
They  looked  like  twin  brothers,  both  big  and 
bulging  with  muscle,  both  with  china-blue 
eyes  and  pale  hair  and  cheeks  that  showed 
pink  through  the  sunburn. 
56 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Are  they  brothers?"  I  whispered  to  uncle. 

"Brothers?  Who?  Them  fellers?  Naw. 
They're  Swedes.  That's  what  makes  'em 
look  alike.  All  Swedes  look  alike.  Didn't 
you  know  that?  Why,  Binney,  over  in 
Sweden,  where  they  come  from,  each  feller 
wears  a  tag  with  his  name  on  it.  Only  way 
to  tell  'em  apart.  Heard  once  of  a  feller 
losin'  his  tag  and  wanderin'  around  for  days 
without  bein'  able  to  find  out  who  he  was. 
When  he  did  find  out  he  found  out  wrong 
and  had  to  be  somebody  else  besides  himself 
all  the  rest  of  his  life.  It's  worryin'  about 
that  happenin'  that  makes  all  Swedes  so 
melancholy." 

"Oh!"  says  I.  Mark's  little  eyes  were 
opened  up  wide,  and  he  was  staring  at  uncle 
like  all  git-out.  Couldn't  quite  make  up  his 
mind  if  uncle  was  fooling  us  or  not. 

About  fifteen  minutes  later  Jerry  Yack 
hunched  his  shoulders  and  moved  around  un- 
easy-like.  He  opened  his  mouth  once  and 
shut  it  again.  Opened  it  and  shut  it  another 
time.  Then  he  coughed.  Seemed  it  took  all 
that  work  to  get  ready  to  say  something. 

"Ay  tank,"  says  he,  "ay  bane  goin'." 

Ole  looked  up  and  did  considerable  wrig- 
57 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

gling  himself.  After  a  while  he  got  ready  to 
speak:  "Ay  tank,"  he  says,  "ay  bane  goin', 
too." 

They  both  looked  at  uncle  with  their  blue 
eyes  wide  open  like  babies.  Uncle  didn't  say 
anything.  After  quite  a  spell  Jerry  got  around 
to  speak  again.  He  asked  a  question  of  uncle. 

"Wat  you  tank?  Eh?  You  bane  goin' — 
yess,  or  you  bane  goin' — no?" 

Uncle  shook  his  head  and  recited  a  poem 
that  made  Ole  and  Jerry  look  puzzled  as  any- 
thing: 

"Shall  I  go  or  shall  I  stay? 
That  I  must  decide  to-day." 

He  waggled  his  head  at  us  boys.  "That 
hain't  neither  exactly  nor  precisely  the  fact," 
says  he;  "it's  you  boys  got  to  decide.  Ole 
and  Jerry  here  come  to  git  me  to  help  'em 
a  week  or  so  on  the  river.  Loggin'.  Jerkin' 
logs  out  of  the  river-bed.  River-bed's  covered 
with  timber  farther  down.  It's  timber  that 
sunk  in  the  old  lumberin'-days,  and  there's  a 
heap  of  it.  «They  got  a  scow  with  a  derrick 
onto  it.  What  think?" 

"H-h-how  do  you  git  the  logs  out?"  Mark 
wanted  to  know. 

58 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Right  off  his  curiosity  got  to  working. 

"Poke  around  with  a  pike-pole  till  you  find 
a  log.  Git  a  chain  fast  around  her,  start 
your  engin'  goin',  and  jerk  her  out  with  the 
derrick.  Pile  'em  on  shore." 

Mark  nodded  like  he  understood.  "How 
came  the  logs  to  be  in  the  river?"  he  asked. 

"Got  water-logged  and  sunk  when  rafts 
was  runnin'  down,"  says  Uncle  Hieronymous. 
"Now,  you  four  git  together  and  decide  if  I 
can  go.  I'll  be  gone  maybe  two  weeks. 
Dun'no'  jest  where  I'll  be,  but  somewheres  on 
the  river  below.  Plenty  of  grub  in  the  house, 
plenty  of  fish  in  the  stream.  Nothin'  to  hurt 
you.  How  about  it,  eh?" 

"Go,  far's  I'm  concerned,"  I  told  him. 

"M-m-me  too,"  says  Mark;  and  the  rest 
joined  in. 

"Won't  be  afraid?"  asked  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous. "Sure?  Don't  mind  bein'  alone  with 
Marthy  and  Mary,  eh?  Now  be  sure.  Don't 
forgit  them  two  white  cats  when  you're 
thinkin'  it  over." 

"We  hain't   f-f -forgot   'em,"   says   Mark. 

Then   he  up   and   asked   another   question. 

"What   I'm  wonderin',"   he   says,    "is,   did 

Mr.  Skoog  and  Mr.  Yack  ask  you  all  that 

5  59 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

themselves  or  did  they  bring  it  written  in  a 
1-1-1-letter?" 

"They — fetched — a — letter,"   he  wheezed. 

Mark  nodded.  "I  d-d-didn't  b'lieve  they 
could  have  s-s-said  it  all,"  he  says. 

"When  you  going?"  I  asked. 

"  Right  after  we  eat,"  says  uncle,  and  with 
that  he  got  up  and  commenced  getting  supper. 
In  half  an  hour  all  seven  of  us  were  crowded 
around  the  little  table,  and  I  want  to  say  if 
Ole  and  Jerry  couldn't  talk  they  could  eat. 
If  all  Swedes  eat  like  they  did  I  bet  the  farmers 
in  Sweden  have  to  raise  whopping  big  crops  to 
have  enough  to  go  around. 

After  supper  Jerry  and  Ole  got  a  buck- 
board  out  of  the  barn  and  hitched  their  horse 
to  it.  Uncle  threw  in  a  canvas  bag  of  clothes 
and  climbed  in. 

"If  you  git  to  needin'  anything  you  kin 
git  it  up  to  Larsen's,  I  guess,"  uncle  said. 
He  was  going  to  say  something  else,  but  right 
in  the  middle  of  it  the  old  horse  jumped  all 
his  feet  off  the  ground  and  started  down  the 
road  a-kiting.  Uncle  and  Ole  and  Jerry 
came  pretty  nearly  being  left  behind.  They 
all  keeled  over  in  a  heap,  with  arms  and  legs 
waggling  in  the  air,  and  there  wasn't  any 
60 


*! 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

good  reason  why  all  of  them  weren't  jounced 
out  on  the  ground  in  the  first  fifty  feet.  But 
they  weren't.  Finally  Ole  got  to  his  feet  and 
caught  hold  of  the  lines.  He  pulled  and 
sawed  and  yelled,  but  on  the  old  horse  went 
until  he  jumped  out  of  sight  around  a  bend 
in  the  road.  I  heard  Mark  Tidd  chuckle. 

"B-b-bet  those  Swedes  never  started  any- 
where as  quick  as  that  b-b-before,"  he  says. 

I  looked  at  him  sharp.  He  had  his  sling- 
shot in  his  hand. 

"Did  you  shoot  the  horse?"  I  asked,  sort 
of  provoked,  because  it  didn't  look  like  a 
polite  thing  to  do. 

He  nodded  yes. 

"What  for?"  I  asked. 

He  pointed  up  the  road  toward  Larsen's, 
and  there,  coming  along  as  fast  as  they  could 
walk,  were  Collins  and  the  fat  man  we  saw 
in  Billy's  wagon  that  afternoon.  ' '  Th-th-that's 
why,"  says  Mark. 

"What  have  they  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"I  got  a  sort  of  f-f-feelin'  I  don't  want  those 
f-f-fellows  to  see  your  uncle  Hieronymous. 
Dun'no'  jest  why,  but  that's  the  way  I  f-f-feel." 

"Well,"  says  I,  "they  won't  see  him  for  a 
couple  of  weeks  now." 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Not  if  you  f-f -fellers  don't  blab  where  he 
is,"  says  Mark. 

"You  needn't  worry,"  I  says,  sharp-like. 
"Guess  we  can  keep  our  mouths  shut  if 
there's  any  need." 

"May  be  no  need,"  says  he,  "but  k-k-keep 
'em  shut,  anyhow." 

We  watched  the  fat  man  and  Mr.  Collins. 
They  were  headed  for  our  house,  all  right. 
I  don't  know  why,  but  right  there  I  began 
to  feel  that  maybe  Mark  Tidd  had  stumbled 
onto  something  that  wasn't  just  exactly  the 
way  it  ought  to  be.  It  was  hard  to  believe  it, 
though,  for  Mr.  Collins  was  such  a  pleasant, 
jolly  sort  of  a  man,  and  the  fat  man  looked 
so  good-natured  he  wouldn't  brush  a  fly  off 
his  bald  spot  for  fear  of  hurting  its  feelings. 
But  things  did  look  peculiar.  That  letter 
and  telegram  and  the  way  Mr.  Collins 
seemed  to  want  to  meet  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous  made  it  look  as  if  they  were  in  the 
woods  for  something  more  than  a  fishing- 
trip. 

Mr.  Collins  called  to  us  when  he  was  quite 
a  ways  off.  "Hello,  fellows!"  says  he.  "Had 
any  luck  to-day?" 

We  shook  our  heads.  In  a  rninnit  they 
62 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

were  in  the  clearing  and  in  another  were 
standing  right  by  us. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Jiggins,  boys,"  says  Mr. 
Collins,  and  then  he  went  over  all  our  names 
careful.  "He's  come  up  to  fish,  but  I  don't 
believe  there's  room  enough  for  him  in  the 
stream.  Do  you?" 

"Well,"  says  Mark,  "him  and  me  would 
f-f-fill  it  perty  full." 

It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  Mark 
Tidd  joke  about  his  own  fatness,  and  it  sur- 
prised me  considerable.  But  he  had  a  reason, 
most  likely.  He  usually  had  a  reason  for  what 
he  did. 

"Been  having  visitors?"  asked  Mr.  Collins. 

"Visitors?"  says  Mark,  and  looked  as  dull 
as  a  sheep.  You  wouldn't  have  thought,  to 
look  at  him  then,  that  he  knew  enough  to 
spell  fish  without  putting  a  "g"  in  it. 

"Oh,  I  just  saw  somebody  drive  away." 

"Yes,"  says  Mark.  "Went  p-p-perty  fast, 
too." 

"Did  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry,"  says  Mr. 
Jiggins. 

Mark  winked  at  me,  and  it  was  a  minnit 
before  I  understood  what  he  wanted.  Then 
I  knew  it  must  be  something  about  uncle, 
6? 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

and  there  was  only  one  thing  about  him  right 
then,  which  was  that  he  was  gone  away.  I 
guessed  Mark  wanted  me  to  tell  it. 

"It  was  my  uncle  Hieronymous,"  I  says, 
and  Mark  nodded  his  head,  satisfied. 

"Going  to  town?"  asked  Mr.  Jiggins. 

"Dun'no',"  says  Mark.  "He  d-d-didn't 
say." 

"Be  gone  long?" 

"Won't  be  b-b-back  to-night,"  Mark  stut- 
tered. 

Mr.  Collins  looked  at  Mr.  Jiggins,  and  Mr. 
Jiggins  looked  at  Mr.  Collins. 

"We  thought  we'd  drop  in  and  call  on 
him,"  says  Collins. 

"Too  bad  he's  gone,"  I  says.  "Come 
again." 

"We'll  do  that,"  says  Jiggins;  but  he  looked 
pretty  disappointed,  and  I  noticed  him  eying 
the  road  back  to  Larsen's.  So  did  Mark. 
His  little  eyes  twinkled  kind  of  mean. 

"Quite  a  walk  d-d-down  here,  ain't  it?" 
he  asked,  with  his  face  solemn.  "  Dun'no's  I'd 
care  to  walk  it  for  n-n-nothin'." 

"Dun'no's  I  would,  either,"  said  the  fat 
man,  pretty  short.  "Let's  start  back,"  he 
says  to  Collins. 

64 


MARK  TIDD  IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

"When  uncle  gets  back  I'll  tell  him  you 
were  here,"  I  promised,  and  they  said  thank 
you. 

"L-1-let's  git  something  to  eat,"  says  Mark, 
and  the  way  he  stuttered  to  get  it  out  was  a 
caution.  I've  noticed  he  stutters  worse  when 
he's  hungry  than  when  he  isn't.  "I'll  cook," 
says  he,  "if  you  fellers  will  wash  the  dishes." 

There's  no  denying  Mark  was  a  good  cook. 
He  ought  to  be,  for  there  never  was  anybody 
who  thought  more  about  eating  than  he  did. 
He  was  always  hanging  around  the  kitchen 
watching  his  mother,  and  I'll  bet  there  never 
was  a  girl  who  could  make  better  baking- 
powder  biscuits  than  he  did  that  night.  There 
were  some  raspberries  Uncle  Hieronymous 
had  found  time  to  pick,  and  lots  of  ordinary 
stuff  like  fried  potatoes  and  ham. 

"T-t-to-morrow,"  says  Mark,  "I'll  make  a 
pie."  He  stood  looking  out  of  the  window, 
thinking  a  minute.  Then  he  turned  sudden- 
like,  and  frowned  so  his  forehead  got  all 
ridgy.  "Careless,"  says  he.  "Here  we  are, 
surrounded  by  hostiles,  and  the  c-c-c-canoe 
right  there  under  their  eyes.  N-n-never  would 
be  there  in  the  mornin'.  Hain't  you  f-f-f -fel- 
lers read  any  books?  Don't  you  know  folks 
6s 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

fixed  like  we  are  always  hide  their  canoe? 
Well,  you  b-b-better  git  right  at  it." 

"It's  all  paint,"  says  Plunk  Smalley. 

"  P-p-p-paint !"  Mark  says,  disgusted  as 
could  be.  "What's  p-paint  against  losin'  our 
boat?  Where'd  we  be  if  we  lost  it,  I'd  like 
to  know?  Hunderds  of  m-m-miles  from  civili- 
zation. Our  only  hope  of  gittin'  back  alive 
is  that  b-boat." 

Off  we  went  in  a  hurry,  I  can  tell  you.  It 
seemed  real.  That  was  a  way  Mark  had:  he 
could  make  the  games  you  played  with  him 
seem  like  you  were  doing  the  things  in  earnest. 
We  took  that  canoe,  paint  and  all,  and  hid 
it  down  the  path  that  ran  through  the  under- 
brush. We  piled  limbs  of  bushes  all  around 
it,  hid  the  paddles  near,  and  then  went  back 
to  the  house. 

"That  was  a  narrow  escape,"  Mark  says. 
"Wish  we  had  it  provisioned,  but  it  don't 
look  possible.  We  can  p-p-put  blankets  and 
things  in  it,  anyhow." 

We  did.  We  put  blankets  and  matches 
and  cooking-things  near  the  canoe  just  as  if 
we  expected  we  might  have  to  run  to  it  for 
our  lives  any  second.  That  didn't  satisfy 
Mark.  He  made  us  fix  up  a  pack  full  of 
66 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

canned  things  and  potatoes  and  flour  and  salt 
so  we  could  grab  it  and  be  off  without  wait- 
ing even  to  think.  And  all  the  time  we  thought 
it  was  just  a  game.  We  thought  he  was 
playing,  while  Mark  never  said  a  word,  but 
just  let  us  go  on  thinking  so.  He  wasn't 
playing,  though.  He  was  looking  ahead  and 
getting  ready  if  an  emergency  came  up. 
Afterward  he  told  me  he  wasn't  sure  we 
would  ever  need  the  boat,  but  there  was  just 
a  chance,  and  if  that  chance  happened  we'd 
need  it  bad  and  quick.  So  he  got  it  ready. 
That's  why  folks  always  have  found  it  so 
hard  to  beat  Mark  Tidd.  He'd  sit  and  figure 
and  figure  and  guess  what  might  happen, 
and  when  he'd  guessed  every  possible  thing 
that  could  manage  to  come  about  he'd  get 
ready  for  every  one  of  them. 

By  the  time  the  canoe  was  all  ready  it  was 
almost  dark.  It  was  the  first  we'd  thought 
about  spending  the  night  all  alone  in  the 
cabin,  way  off  miles  from  anybody,  and  I'll 
admit  I  began  to  feel  pretty  funny.  I  no- 
ticed everybody  else  was  getting  quiet  and 
not  saying  much  and  looking  every  once  in  a 
while  into  the  woods.  It  was  chilly  and  still. 

1 '  L-1-let's  go  to  bed, ' '  Mark  says,  after  awhile. 
67 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Shall — shall  we  have  a  guard?"  Tallow 
says,  hesitating-like. 

"No  need,"  Mark  says. 

I  began  to  think  I  would  like  to  have  some- 
body big — somebody  big  and  so  strong  that 
knew  so  much  about  the  woods.  If  some  one 
like  that  had  been  there  to  sleep  alongside 
of  us  not  one  of  us  would  have  worried  a 
mite.  But  he  wasn't,  so  we  had  to  do  without. 

We  put  out  the  lights  and  locked  the  door, 
and  after  quite  a  while  we  all  went  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  V 

r"PHE  next  day  we  didn't  do  much  but 
1  fuss  around.  Plunk  and  Tallow  tried 
fishing  for  trout  with  angleworms,  but  they 
got  only  one, "and  he  was  a  rainbow.  Mark 
found  a  shady  spot  and  read  all  the  time  he 
wasn't  cooking  or  eating,  and  I  got  out 
Uncle  Hieronymous's  draw-shave  and  found 
a  piece  of  seasoned  hickory  he  had  stowed 
away.  First  off  I  didn't  know  what  I'd 
make  of  it,  but  after  I'd  figured  a  spell  I 
decided  it  would  be  a  bow  and  arrow.  I 
was  pretty  handy  with  tools,  and  this  wasn't 
the  first  bow  I  ever  made,  by  any  means.  It 
took  me  all  day  to  finish  it  and  half  a  dozen 
arrows,  so  my  time  was  filled  up  all  right. 
"Tell  you  what  let's  do,"  says  I,  at  the 
supper-table.  "Uncle  said  there  was  a  lake 
about  a  mile  off  with  bass  and  perch  in  it. 
What's  the  matter  with  digging  some  worms 
and  hiking  there  early  in  the  morning?  Maybe 
we  can  catch  a  mess  for  dinner." 
69 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"G-g-good  idea,"  says  Mark.  "Then  let's 
get  there  by  daylight." 

We  took  a  spade  and  went  out  back  of  the 
barn  to  dig  worms.  The  ground  was  pretty 
dry,  but  by  digging  over  about  an  acre  we 
got  a  half  a  canful. 

"Think  it's  enough?"  I  asked. 

"All  you  can  g-g-get  has  got  to  be  enough," 
says  Mark,  which  was  perfectly  true.  Any- 
how, if  we  got  one  fish  for  every  worm  we 
would  have  more  than  we  could  eat. 

Uncle  had  an  old  alarm-clock  that  would 
still  run  considerable.  I  wouldn't  go  so  far 
as  to  say  it  would  run  just  right,  but  it  had 
two  hands  and  a  face,  and  it  ticked.  That 
ought  to  be  enough  for  any  clock.  And  it 
did  alarm.  I  should  say  it  did!  It  went  off 
like  the  crack  of  doom. 

"What  time  11 1  set  her  for?"  I  asked. 

"'Bout  two  o'clock,"  says  Tallow. 

Mark  grunted.  "Two  n-n-nothin',"  he 
stuttered.  "Three's  plenty  early." 

Then  we  went  to  bed.  We  didn't  seem  to 
be  as  nervous  that  night  as  we  had  been  the 
night  before,  which  was  pleasant.  I  don't 
like  to  be  scared.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
disagreeable  things  that  happen  to  me.  I 
70 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

was  just  dozing  off  when  Mark  spoke 
to  me. 

"Those  f-f -fellers  was  here  to-day,"  he  says. 

"What  fellers?"  I  asked,  cross-like,  because 
I  didn't  like  being  roused  up. 

"  C-C-Christopher  Columbus  and  George 
W-W-W- Washington,"  he  says,  disgusted. 
"Who'd  you  think?" 

"You  mean  Collins  and  the  fat  man?" 

He  grunted :  ' '  Uh-hup .  While  you  was  back 
of  the  barn  whittlin',"  he  says.  "They  went 
off  disappointed.  Seems  like  that  f-f -fat  feller 
don't  care  much  for  walking." 

"What  did  you  tell  them?" 

"Told  'em  your  uncle  wouldn't  be  b-b-back 
'fore  night." 

"Oh,  go  on  to  sleep,"  Tallow  snorted,  from 
his  bed;  and  so  Mark  and  I  kept  quiet,  and 
the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was  being  waked  up 
by  the  worst  racket  I  ever  heard.  It  scared 
me  so  I  jumped  out  of  bed  way  into  the  middle 
of  the  room.  For  a  minnit  I  couldn't  make 
out  what  was  going  on.  It  might  have  been 
a  bear  tearing  down  the  house  or  an  attack 
by  Indians,  for  all  I  could  make  out.  Then  I 
got  really  waked  up  and  recognized  it  was  the 
old  alarm-clock.  It  didn't  seem  like  I'd  been 

71 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

to  sleep  at  all,  and  it  was  so  dark  a  black 
cat  would  have  looked  sort  of  gray  if  it  had 
come  into  the  room.  The  other  fellows  were 
stirring  around. 

"Time  to  get  up,"  I  says. 

"Doggone  that  clock,"  says  Tallow. 

I  guess  that's  what  we  all  thought,  but 
nobody  was  willing  to  be  the  first  one  to  back 
out,  so  we  lighted  a  lamp  and  dressed.  My, 
but  it  was  chilly!  When  we  opened  the  door 
and  started  outside  it  was  like  to  frost-bite 
our  ears.  And  everything  was  wet  with  dew; 
my  feet  were  soaked  before  I'd  gone  a  hundred 
feet. 

I  don't  know  what  time  it  really  was. 
Maybe  it  was  three  o'clock,  but  if  it  was,  three 
is  a  heap  earlier  than  I  ever  imagined  it  could 
be.  Why,  it  was  as  dark  as  midnight.  We 
stumbled  around  and  found  the  road.  It  was 
about  a  mile  up  the  road  to  the  bridge,  and 
maybe  a  half  a  mile  across  the  stream  to  the 
lake.  We  came  near  missing  it  altogether  in 
the  dark,  and  we  would  have  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  sound  of  a  frog  splashing  into  the 
water.  We  turned  off  and  fumbled  down 
to  the  shore,  and  there  we  were.  We  might 
as  well  have  been  home,  for  we  never  could 
72 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

find  the  boat  uncle  told  me  about  in  that 
blackness,  so  we  just  sat  down  and  grumbled. 
It  was  pretty  uncomfortable,  I  want  to  tell 
you.  All  the  fun  there  is  crouching  down 
in  the  dark  on  the  shore  of  a  lake  you  can 
hardly  see,  with  your  feet  wet  and  shivers 
chasing  each  other  up  and  down  your  back, 
can  be  put  in  your  ear. 

"Who  thought  of  this?"  Tallow  growled. 

"Binney,"  says  Plunk. 

"Who  wanted  to  get  up  at  two?"  I  asked 
right  back,  and  they  didn't  have  another 
word  to  say. 

We  huddled  around,  all  fixed  to  quarrel. 
It  got  a  little  lighter,  but  not  enough  to  do 
any  good,  and  by  that  time  we  were  hungry. 
Tallow  mentioned  he  was,  and  Mark — the 
only  one  in  the  crowd  to  think  ahead — pulled 
a  bag  out  of  his  pocket  with  sandwiches  and 
store -cookies  in  it.  We  gobbled  them  and 
felt  a  bit  better. 

Just  as  it  began  to  get  sort  of  grayish  we 
heard  wagon-wheels  in  the  road.  Right  off 
Mark  started  a  game.  He  figured  we'd  feel 
better  if  we  had  something  to  think  at>out, 
I  guess. 

"Hist!"  says  he.    "The  p-p-pirates!" 
73 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

We  all  kept  so  still  you  couldn't  even  hear 
us  breathe. 

"If  they  f-f-find  us  here  in  their  lair," 
says  Mark,  "it  '11  be  all  day  with  us.  Have 
you  got  the  diamonds  s-s-safe,  Binney?"  he 
whispered. 

"Yes,"  says  I,  feeling  of  some  pebbles  in 
my  pocket,  "I  got  'em." 

"Maybe  they'll  pass  without  seein'  us," 
Tallow  guessed. 

But  the  wagon  stopped.  It  stopped  right 
alongside  of  where  we  were,  and  somebody 
spoke. 

"Fine  time  of  the  day  to  get  a  man  out," 
he  says.  "Might  have  had  four  hours'  sleep 
yet." 

"Never  mind,"  says  another  voice,  sort  of 
laughing;  "you'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as 
they  start  biting.  .  .  .  That  boat  Larsen  told 
us  about  ought  to  be  right  near  here." 

"Let  it  stay,"  grumbled  the  other  man. 
"I  ain't  going  to  stir  out  of  this  wagon  till 
it's  light  enough  for  me  to  see  to  get  around 
without  busting  my  neck.  A  man  of  my 
size  ain't  a  cat,  to  run  along  on  the  top  of  a 
fence." 

"Here,  have  a  smoke.     That  '11  cheer  you 

74 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

up.  It  '11  be  plenty  light  in  fifteen  minutes, 
Jiggins." 

Mark  nudged  me.  I  thought  the  voices 
were  familiar,  but  as  soon  as  that  name  Jig- 
gins  was  mentioned  I  knew  it  was  Mr.  Collins 
and  the  fat  man. 

"Lay  low,"  says  Mark,  "and  listen.  That's 
the  pirate  chief." 

We  listened. 

"We  v/ant  to  get  back  to  Larsen's  by  nine 
o'clock,"  said  Jiggins.  "Our  friend  with  the 
name  ought  to  be  home  by  this  time,  and  I 
don't  want  to  hang  around  this  forsaken  hole 
in  the  woods  all  summer." 

"Hieronymous  Alphabet  Bell,"  says  Col- 
lins. "That  is  quite  some  name.  Wonder 
where  he  got  it?" 

"Don't  care  where  he  got  it.  What  I'm 
worrying  about  is,  will  we  get  him?" 

"Sure,"  says  Collins.  "He's  probably  for- 
gotten he  ever  owned  forty  acres  in  the  North- 
ern Peninsula,  and  if  he  remembers  it  he 
won't  think  about  retaining  the  mineral  rights 
when  he  sold  it." 

"  You  never  can  tell  about  these  old  codgers. 
Some  of  'em  are  wiser  than  they  look." 

"Well,"  says  Collins,  "we've  got  to  land 
6  75 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

him.  It  means  considerable  to  you  and  me, 
eh?  To  think  of  the  old  codger  living  here 
in  the  backwoods  when  he  is  the  owner  of 
one  of  the  finest  bits  of  copper  property  in 
the  state!  I  don't  suppose  there's  any  telling 
what  that  land  is  worth  as  it  stands." 

"You  can  bet  it's  worth  considerable,  or  the 
company  wouldn't  be  so  anxious  to  get  hold 
of  it.  Anyhow,  it  would  be  enough  to  make 
our  friend  Hieronymous  richer  than  he  ever 
dreamed  of  being." 

"Well,  he  won't  ever  know  it.  Seems  kind 
of  mean,  sometimes,  to  gouge  an  old  fellow, 
but  I  suppose  business  is  business.  He's  as 
happy  without  it,  likely." 

"We  haven't  got  it  yet,"  snapped  Jiggins, 
"and  you  want  to  move  pretty  cautious. 
Remember,  you're  a  friend  of  a  farmer  who 
bought  that  piece  to  farm  on.  Remember  he's 
a  peculiar  old  fellow  who  wants  to  feel  nobody 
else  has  any  right  whatever  in  the  land  he 
lives.  That's  why  he  wants  to  get  the  mineral 
rights  Mr.  Hieronymous  Alphabet  owns.  Re- 
member that.  It  ought  to  fool  him,  all  right, 
but  you  can't  ever  tell.  We  mustn't  offer 
him  too  much,  or  he'll  get  to  thinking.  Two 
hundred  is  the  highest,  I  should  say." 
76 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Two  hundred's  plenty.  There's  no  need 
to  waste  money,  anyhow." 

Mark  Tidd  was  holding  onto  my  arm.  As 
Collins  and  Jiggins  went  on  talking  I  could 
feel  him  getting  more  and  more  excited  by 
the  way  his  fingers  dug  into  me.  I  hadn't 
any  idea  he  was  so  strong  in  the  hands,  but 
I  began  to  think  he'd  take  a  chunk  right 
out  of  me. 

"Quit  it,"  I  says,  in  a  whisper. 

"D-d-did  you  hear?"  he  asked,  stuttering  so 
he  could  hardly  get  the  words  out. 

"Yes,"  says  I. 

Just  then  Plunk  Smalley,  who  always  was 
doing  something  at  the  wrong  minnit,  had 
to  lean  forward  suddenly  and  bang  his  head 
against  a  stump. 

"Ouch!"  he  hollered. 

The  talk  in  the  wagon  stopped  in  a  second, 
and  I  heard  somebody  leap  to  the  ground 
and  come  jumping  toward  us.  Of  course,  it 
was  Collins,  because  the  fat  man  never  could 
have  moved  so  fast.  We  were  in  a  nice  place — • 
all  sitting  on  the  ground,  without  the  slightest 
idea  where  to  run  without  getting  mired  or 
tangled  up  in  the  underbrush.  But  we  did 
our  best.  Everybody  took  a  different  direc- 
77 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

tion,  and  you  could  hear  folks  floundering 
wherever  you  listened.  The  fat  man  had 
got  down  and  was  coming  after  us  too. 

"Who  was  it?"  he  yelled  to  Collins. 

"I  don't  know,"  Collins  yelled  back,  "but 
I'm  going  to  get  them,  anyhow."  His  voice 
sounded  like  he  meant  it,  too. 

Mark  and  Tallow  and  Plunk  and  I  began 
getting  together  again,  and,  all  in  a  crowd,  we 
plunged  ahead  without  looking  where  we  were 
going.  It  was  starting  to  get  light  now — light 
enough  so  you  could  see  things  dim-like  and 
indistinct.  All  at  once  I  splashed  into  the 
water.  Water  was  in  front  of  us,  so  we  turned 
to  the  left.  There  was  water,  too.  And  water 
was  behind  us. 

"We're  nabbed,"  I  says  to  Mark;  "we've 
run  out  on  a  point  of  land." 

Well,  sir,  it  did  look  as  if  we  were  goners. 
All  Collins  and  Jiggins  had  to  do  was  come 
and  get  us.  But  they  hadn't  discovered  the 
little  peninsula  yet  and  were  wallowing  around 
maybe  a  hundred  feet  off. 

Mark  was  moving  around  slow  and  cautious. 
Finally  I  heard  him  sort  of  chuckle.    "Here's 
the  boat,"  he  whispered.    "  I  thought  this  was 
like  the  place  your  uncle  said  it  would  be." 
78 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

We  were  as  quiet  as  could  be  getting  to 
where  it  was,  but  Collins  and  Jiggins  heard 
us  and  yelled.  We  jumped  into  the  boat  and 
started  to  push  off,  but  before  we  were  away 
from  the  shore  Collins  loomed  up  out  of  the 
murkiness  and  grabbed  at  the  stern. 

"I  got  you,"  he  said,  business-like  as  any- 
thing. Somehow  I  didn't  like  the  sound  of 
his  voice. 

He  missed  us  first  grab  and  took  a  step 
into  the  water.  Just  as  he  reached  for  us 
again  the  most  unearthly  sound  I  ever  heard 
came  wavering  over  the  water.  It  was  a  hor- 
rid kind  of  a  sound.  A  mysterious,  shuddery 
sound  that  made  you  draw  all  together  and 
wish  you  were  in  the  house  by  a  warm  fire. 

4 '  Ha-ha-ha !  Ha-ha-ha-ha !  Ha-ha-ha-ha- 
ha-ha!"  it  came.  Weird?  Why,  weird  was 
no  name  for  it!  It  was  the  craziest,  awfulest 
laugh  in  the  world.  Collins  stopped  and 
straightened  up  like  he'd  been  shot. 

"Shove,"  says  Mark,  who  wasn't  so  scared 
but  he  could  take  advantage  of  what  was 
going  on.  I  was  almost  paralyzed,  and  so  were 
Plunk  and  Tallow,  but  we  shoved,  and  the 
boat  glided  off  out  of  Collins's  reach. 

Then  came  that  laugh  once  more.  ' '  Ha-ha ! 
79 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  Ha-ha-ha-ha!"  It  was  half 
laugh  and  half  shriek.  All  of  it  was  crazy — 
plum  lunatic  crazy. 

"What  is  it?"  I  whispered.  I  couldn't 
have  spoken  out  loud  to  save  my  neck. 

Mark  chuckled.  ' '  Git  to  r-r-rowin' , ' '  says  he. 

We  did. 

"But  what's  making  that  noise?"  I  asked. 

Before  the  words  were  out  of  my  mouth 
the  laugh  came  shrieking  at  us  again. 

"Sounds  awful,  don't  it?"  says  Mark. 

"  Let's  git  out  of  this,"  says  Tallow.  "  Some- 
thing's loose.  I  don't  like  it." 

Mark  chuckled  again.  Then  he  started  to 
laugh  so  he  shook  all  over. 

"Well,"  I  says,  as  mad  as  could  be,  "what's 
so  funny  about  it?" 

"Don't  you  know  what  that  1-1-laugh  was?" 
he  asked  back  at  me. 

"If  I  did,"  says  I,  "maybe  I  wouldn't  be 
so  all-fired  scared." 

"Likely  not,"  he  says.  "The  thing  that 
made  that  laugh  is  the  craziest  thing  in  the 
world,  folks  say.  When  you  w-w-want  to  tell 
how  c-c-crazy  a  person  is  you  say  it's  as 
crazy  as  the  th-th-th-thing  that's  making  that 
laugh." 

80 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "I  don't  b'lieve  you  know 
more'n  I  do." 

"You're  a  g-g-gump,"  says  Mark.  "You're 
as  crazy  as  a  1-1-1-loon." 

In  a  second  I  saw  it.  Loon !  Huh !  There 
we'd  been  frightened  half  out  of  our  wits 
by  a  bird  no  bigger  than  a  hen.  But,  lucky 
for  us,  we  weren't  the  only  folks  frightened. 
Collins  was  as  bad  as  we  were. 

"Anyhow,"  says  I,  "I'm  much  obliged  to 
Mister  Loon,  just  the  same." 

"Me,  too,"  Mark  agreed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

T  X  TE  sat  there  in  the  boat  about  a  hundred 
VV  feet  from  shore  and  watched  Collins 
and  the  fat  man  floundering  around  on  the 
bank.  We  could  just  see  them,  but  gradually 
it  got  lighter  and  lighter  until  we  could  make 
them  out  as  plainly  as  they  could  us.  Most 
of  the  time  Mark  was  laughing  to  himself. 

"What  you  laughing  at?"   I  asked  him. 

"At  the  way  we  r-r-ran,"  says  he. 

"It  wasn't  any  laughin'-matter,"  says   I. 

"You  don't  think  they'd  have  h-h-hurt 
you,  do  you?" 

"I  don't  think  anything  else." 

"Shucks!"  says  he.  "They  only  come 
after  us  1-1-like  they  did  because  they  were 
s-s-startled.  We  s-s-scared  'em." 

"And  they  scared  us,"  I  says,  sharp-like. 

"They  might  'a'  mauled  us  a  1-1-little," 
says  Mark,  "but  nothin'  more." 

"Well,"  says  Plunk,  "what  we  goin'  to 
do  now?" 

82 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Nothin'  for  a  bit,"  says  Mark.  "When 
they  clear  out  we'll  go  home." 

"But  what  we  goin'  to  do  about  what  we 
heard?"  Tallow  wanted  to  know. 

Mark  looked  disgusted.  "Why,"  says  he, 
as  sarcastic  as  could  be,  "we're  g-g-goin'  to 
write  it  down  on  paper  and  b-b-bury  it 
where  nobody  can  ever  f-find  it." 

Collins  and  Jiggins  had  been  sitting  with 
their  heads  together  while  we  talked.  Just 
after  Mark  got  through  speaking  Collins 
came  close  to  the  water  and  yelled  at  us. 

"Hey,  fellows,"  says  he,  pleasant-like, 
"come  on  a-shore.  What  ails  you,  anyhow?" 

"N-n-nothin',"  says  Mark.  "We're  sittin' 
here,  gittin'  ready  to  f-f-f-fish." 

"What  made  you  run  when  we  came?" 

"What  made  you  chase  us?" 

"That  was  just  for  fun.  We  thought 
maybe  we'd  scare  you." 

"You  did,"  says  Mark. 

"We  knew  you  were  hiding  down  there. 
That's  why  Jiggins  and  I  made  that  joke  in 
the  wagon.  We  knew  we'd  get  you  all  ex- 
cited." 

"What  joke?"  Mark  asked,  with  his  face 
as  dumb  and  foolish  as  a  pumpkin  lantern. 
83 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Didn't  you  hear  what  we  said?"  I  could 
see  Collins  was  beginning  to  feel  relieved. 

"I  hain't  heard  no  j-j-joke  this  morning," 
says  Mark. 

Collins  turned  to  Jiggins  and  said,  low,  but 
not  so  low  we  couldn't  hear  him  across  the 
water,  "There,  I  told  you  they  couldn't  have 
heard." 

"I  ain't  so  sure,"  says  Jiggins,  looking  hard 
at  Mark.  "That  fat  kid  don't  appear  to  me 
like  his  ears  were  wadded  with  cotton." 

Collins  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "They 
wouldn't  understand  if  they  did  hear,"  he 
says.  "They're  only  kids." 

Jiggins  snorted.  "I  guess,  friend  Collins," 
says  he,  "you  don't  know  much  about  boys." 
With  that  he  got  up  and  started  back  toward 
the  wagon.  "Come  on,"  says  he,  emphatic- 
like.  "We  got  something  to  do,  and  we  got 
to  do  it  quick." 

Collins  turned  and  laughed  and  called 
good-by  to  us;  then  he  followed  after  Jiggins. 
Mark  was  laughing  again. 

"Now  what?"  I  asked  him.  He  was  always 
seeing  things  to  laugh  at  none  of  the  rest  of 
us  saw,  and  sometimes  it  made  me  a  little 
mad. 

84 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"They're  goin'  to  be  d-d-disappointed 
again,"  says  he.  "Jiggins  is  headin*  for 
Uncle  Hieronymous." 

It  was  funny.  There  the  fat  man  was  hur- 
rying off  to  uncle's  cabin  so  he  could  get  there 
and  buy  his  mineral  rights  before  we  could 
come  to  warn  him.  And  when  he  got  there 
uncle  would  be  somewhere  else.  It  didn't 
look  as  if  the  firm  of  Jiggins  &  Collins  was 
having  very  much  good  luck. 

"Let  'em  go,"  says  I.  "It  may  do  them 
good,  and  they  can't  do  any  harm." 

"They  might  get  track  of  your  uncle," 
says  Tallow. 

"I  dun'no'  how,"  says  I.  "Nobody  knows 
where  he  is  but  us  fellows.  If  they  knew 
what  he  was  gone  for  it  wouldn't  be  very 
easy  to  find  him." 

"Just  the  s-s-same,"  says  Mark,  "we  got 
to  f-find  him,  and  we  mustn't  lose  any  t-t-time 
about  it." 

"How'll  we  do  it?"  I  asked. 

"I  dun'no'  now,"  says  he,  "but  I'll  think 
it  out.  Let's  s-s-start  for  home." 

We  rowed  the  boat  to  shore  and  fastened 
it;  then  we  started  for  Uncle  Hieronymous's 
cabin.  I  own  up  I  felt  sort  of  shaky  about 
85 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

going  back  there  just  then,  for  there  wasn't 
a  doubt  Jiggins  and  Collins  were  there,  but 
Mark  said  there  wasn't  any  danger,  so  along 
we  went.  I  guess  Tallow  and  Plunk  figured 
the  same  way  I  did,  and  that  was  to  think 
no  fat  boy  in  Michigan  could  show  he  had 
more  nerve  than  I  did. 

Sure  enough,  the  men  were  there,  sitting 
on  the  doorstep,  when  we  turned  the  corner 
into  the  clearing.  Mark  never  even  hesitated, 
so  we  kept  right  at  his  heels. 

"Hello!"  says  he.  "What  you  d-d-doin' 
here?" 

" Came  to  see  Mr.  Bell,"  says  Collins.  "He 
seems  to  be  out." 

Jiggins  was  screwing  his  face  around  as  if 
he  didn't  like  things  very  well.  All  of  a  sud- 
den he  shook  a  pudgy  finger  at  Mark  and 
said,  "Young  feller,  if  you  know  as  much  as 
you  look  as  if  you  don't  know,  King  Solomon 
could  take  lessons  in  law  of  you." 

Mark  let  on  he  didn't  understand,  but  I 
knew  he  was  tickled.  It  always  tickled  him 
to  have  folks  let  on  they  thought  he  was  smart. 
He  thought  he  was  smart,  all  right,  though 
he  never  was  disagreeable  about  it. 

"I  dun'no'  nothin'  about  law,"  he  said,  as 
86 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

vacant  as  a  deserted  house.  "What  d'you 
mean  about  Solomon?" 

"Huh!"  snorted  Jiggins. 

"Where's  your  uncle?"  Collins  asked  me. 

"He  hain't  got  back  yet,"  I  told  him. 

"Hasn't  got  back  from  where?" 

"Why,"  says  I,  trying  to  make  out  I  was 
as  imbecile-like  as  Mark  let  on  to  be — "why, 
from  where  he  went  to." 

"Can  you  beat  that?"  Collins  says  to  Jig- 
gins,  and  his  face  was  funny  to  look  at. 
"What  is  this,  anyhow?  A  home  for  the 
feeble-minded?" 

Jiggins  began  to  sing  to  himself — a  way  he 
had,  I  found  out  afterward,  when  he  was  pro- 
voked or  thinking  hard.  "Diddle-dee-dum," 
says  he,  in  a  squawky  voice.  "Diddle-dee- 
dum.  Diddle-diddle-dum-dum."  Then  he 
stopped  sudden  and  asked,  "When's  he  com- 
ing back?" 

"D-d-don't  b'lieve  he's  comin'  to-night," 
says  Mark. 

"It  isn't  any  use,"  Collins  says  to  Jiggins. 
"They  don't  know,  or  if  they  do  they  haven't 
got  brains  enough  to  tell.  Though  where 
their  brains  went  to  I  don't  know.  Last 
time  I  saw  them  they  seemed  to  have  plenty." 
87 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"They  did,  eh?"  says  Jiggins,  sharp-like. 
"Oh-ho,  they  did,  eh?  Urn.  Him.  Diddle- 
diddle-dee.  Diddle-dee-dee-dum."  And  he 
went  on  singing  for  a  couple  of  minutes. 
"Look  here,  young  feller,"  says  he  to  Mark, 
"you  ain't  fooling  me.  I'm  onto  you,  and 
don't  you  forget  it.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you, 
I  do.  All  the  way  off."  He  turned  to  Col- 
lins. "I'd  give  a  dollar,"  says  he,  "to  know 
what  that  kid '11  be  when  he  grows  into  a  man." 

Now  when  you  come  to  think  of  it  that  was 
a  sort  of  a  compliment. 

"Come  on,"  says  Collins.  "We  might  as 
well  get  along.  When  your  uncle  comes  back 
tell  him  we  just  dropped  in.  It  wasn't  any- 
thing important.  Just  visiting." 

"I'll  tell  him,"  says  I. 

They  turned  and  went  off.  As  they  got  to 
the  road  Jiggins  stopped  and  twisted  his 
pudgy  head  on  his  fat  neck  to  look  at  us 
again,  and  he  had  the  sort  of  expression  a  boy 
wears  just  before  he  sticks  out  his  tongue. 
If  he  hadn't  been  a  man  I  bet  he  would  have 
stuck  out  his  tongue.  Somehow  that  made 
me  mad,  and  right  then  and  there  I  did  the 
biggest  fool  thing  I  ever  expect  to  do  in  my 
life. 

88 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Ho!"  I  yelled.  "Think  you're  smart, 
don't  you?  Well,  we  heard  you  in  that 
wagon,  all  right,  and  we  know  where  uncle 
is.  You  needn't  think  you  can  smouge  him 
while  we're  around.  We're  goin'  to  go  to  him 
as  quick  as  we  can  and  tell — "  Then  Mark 
clapped  his  hand  over  my  mouth,  and  all  of 
a  sudden  I  knew  what  I'd  done. 

"Git  into  the  h-h-house,  quick!"  he  stut- 
tered. "Q-q-quick!" 

Both  Collins  and  Jiggins  were  coming 
toward  us  on  the  run.  We  didn't  wait,  but 
went  pell-mell  through  the  door  and  slammed 
it  after  us.  Mark  locked  it.  Then  he  looked 
at  me. 

"Binney,"  says  he,  slow  and  deliberate  and 
cutting,  "if  I  had  a  yaller  dawg  that  didn't 
know  b-b-b-better  than  to  d-d-do  sich  a 
thing  I'd  s-s-skin  him  and  use  his  h-h-hide 
for  a  r-r-rope  to  hang  him  with." 

I  didn't  have  a  word  to  say,  and  I  can  tell 
you  I  felt  pretty  mean.  WTio  wouldn't,  I'd 
like  to  know?  Just  by  being  fresh  I'd  got 
us  all  into  a  peck  of  trouble  that  nobody  could 
see  the  end  of,  and  maybe  fixed  it  so  Collins 
and  Jiggins  would  get  uncle's  mine,  after  all. 
I  felt  like  crying. 

89 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Collins  or  Jiggins  pounded  on  the  door,  but 
it  was  Collins  who  called  to  us  to  open.  We 
didn't  say  a  word,  just  kept  perfectly  quiet. 
We  could  hear  them  talking  outside,  but 
couldn't  make  out  what  they  said. 

"Will  they  bust  in?"  Plunk  asked,  his 
teeth  already  beginning  to  chatter. 

" 'Tain1 1 1-likely,"  says  Mark.  "What  good 
would  it  d-d-do  them?  Eh?  Well,  folks 
with  sense  don't  g-g-generally  do  things  unless 
there's  some  g-good  to  be  got  out  of  it." 

"What  '11  we  do?"    This  was  Tallow. 

"Looks  like  we'll  stay  right  here." 

Collins  pounded  on  the  door  again.  "Tell 
us  where  your  uncle  is,"  says  he,  "and  we 
won't  hurt  you." 

"You  won't  h-h-hurt  us,  anyhow,"  says 
Mark. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He's  where  you  won't  ever  find  him,"  I 
says. 

"Guess  we'll  wait  for  him,  then.  Maybe 
you  won't  like  staying  in  the  house  till  he 
comes.  Might  get  hungry,  eh?"  I  know 
he  was  thinking  of  Mark  when  he  said  that. 

"J-just  what  I  thought,"  says  Mark.  "It 
was  their  only  chance.  "They're  g-g-g-goin^ 
90 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

to  keep  us  shut  up  so's  we  c-c-can't  git  to 
Binney's  uncle  to  warn  him.'* 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "but  s'pose  he  comes  home 
and  finds  them  besiegin'  us?  What  then? 
We  could  holler  to  him." 

Mark  sniffed.  "  'Twon't  take  m-more  than 
one  of  them  to  guard  us.  The  other  can 
g-g-go  lookin'  for  Uncle  Hieronymous." 

"But  they'd  never  find  him,"  says  I. 

"P-p-pickles,"  stuttered  Mark,  as  disgusted 
as  could  be. 

We  all  crowded  to  the  window  and  looked 
out.  I  half  expected  to  see  the  men  getting 
ready  to  batter  down  the  door,  but  Mark 
was  right,  after  all.  They  weren't  doing 
anything  violent,  and  they  didn't  look  as  if 
they  would.  That  was  some  comfort.  Col- 
lins was  standing  with  his  back  to  us,  talking 
to  Jiggins,  who  sat  on  the  ground  with  his 
back  to  a  tree.  We  could  hear  him  singing 
all  the  time  in  that  funny  way  of  his:  "  Dum- 
diddle-diddle-dee-diddle,"  and  so  on.  It 
made  you  want  to  throw  something  at 
him. 

After  a  while  they  agreed  on  something, 
and  Collins  started  out  of  the  clearing. 

"Wonder  where  he's  going?"  Tallow  says. 

7  91 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"S-s-supplies,"  says  Mark.  "The  enemy's 
gpin'  to  settle  down  for  a  s-s-siege." 

There  he  was  off  at  a  game  again.  It  didn't 
seem  to  matter  what  came  up,  Mark  had  to 
pretend  something.  This  time  we  found  out 
we  were  a  party  of  explorers  who  had  run 
onto  a  mysterious  tribe  of  white  men  in  the 
middle  of  Africa.  These  white  men  didn't 
want  to  be  discovered  at  all,  so  they  were 
after  us  hot  and  heavy.  We'd  made  a  bully 
fight,  Mark  said,  but  there  were  too  many 
of  them  for  us,  so  we  sought  refuge  in  a 
cavern  where  they  could  come  at  us  only  one 
at  a  time. 

' '  We  g-g-got  to  sell  our  lives  dear, ' '  says  Mark. 

"  Can't  we  make  a  rush  for  it?"  I  suggested. 

"'Twouldn't  be  no  use.  There's  th-th- 
thousands  of  'em  all  around  us.  You  d-don't 
think  they'd  let  us  g-git  away  with  the 
s-s-sacred  jewel,  do  you?" 

"Oh,"  says  I,  "we  got  the  sacred  jewel, 
did  we?  I  thought  we  were  chased  out  before 
we  got  hands  on  it." 

Mark  shook  his  head  and  then  wagged  it 

from  side  to  side.    I  really  think  he  believed 

what  he  said  and  thought  for  the  minnit  that 

we  were  really  what  we  were  playing  we  were. 

92 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"No,"  says  he,  puffed-up-like,  and  proud 
as  a  pigeon.  "While  you  fellows  was  fightin* 
'em  off  I  made  a  g-g-grab  for  the  jewel  and 
got  it.  See!"  He  held  up  a  white  door-knob 
he'd  found  some  place.  "It'll  make  us  all 
rich,"  says  he,  "maybe — who  knows?  But  if 
we  take  it  to  some  king  or  queen  or  somethin* 
they'll  m-m-make  dukes  or  e-earls  of  us." 

/'Bully,"  says  Plunk.  "I  want  to  be  a 
markiss." 

"You're  m-more  like  to  git  burned  at  the 
stake,"  says  Mark. 

We  took  another  peek  out  of  the  window. 
Jiggins  was  still  sitting  under  his  tree,  not 
ten  feet  from  the  door,  and  it  did  look  as  if 
his  eyes  were  shut. 

"Hus-ss-sh!"  whispered  Mark.  "Maybe 
we  can  git  the  door  open  and  sneak  out.  If 
we  can  g-g-git  to  the  canoe  we're  all  right. 
Then  we  can  p-p-paddle  down-stream  till  we 
find  your  uncle.  Still,  n-n-now." 

We  edged  to  the  door  quiet  and  drew  the 
bolt.  Mark  went  first.  He  opened  it  a  teeny 
crack,  then  a  little  more.  He  was  just  ready 
to  pull  it  way  back  when  Jiggins  up  and  sort 
of  chuckled. 

"I  been  expectin'  some  caper,"  says  he. 

93 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Now  you  git  back  into  the  house  like  good 
boys.  We  don't  aim  to  hurt  you  any,  but 
we  can't  have  you  rampaging  around  the 
country.  'Twouldn't  do,  now,  would  it?  If 
you  were  me  you  wouldn't  stand  for  it,  would 
you?  'Course  not.  Now  go  on  back  and 
behave." 

"How  long  we  got  to  stay  cooped  up  here?" 
I  asked  him,  sharp-like. 

"Well,"  says  he,  "that  depends.  You  see, 
Mr.  Collins  and  me  have  business  with  your 
uncle.  From  what  I  heard  you  yell  a  spell 
back  there's  something  you  want  to  tell  him. 
Did  I  hear  right?  I  shouldn't  be  a  mite  sur- 
prised if  I  did.  Urn.  Well,  Mr.  Collins  and 
me  we  don't  want  any  bad  impressions  given. 
Not  we.  We  want  folks  to  think  well  of  us. 
If  you  was  to  tell  your  uncle  what  you  want 
to  tell  him  it  ain't  likely  he'd  have  anything 
to  do  with  Mr.  Collins  and  me — now,  is  it?" 
Then  he  began  to  sing  again,  "  Diddle-diddle- 
de-dum-diddle-dee. ' ' 

He  did  seem  like  a  jolly  sort  of  fat  man.  I 
liked  Collins,  too.  Even  after  I  found  out  he 
was  trying  to  get  Uncle  Hieronymous's  mine 
away  from  him  I  couldn't  help  liking  him. 
The  other  fellows  told  me  afterward  they  felt 
94 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

a  whole  lot  the  same  way  I  did.  Somehow 
I  never  could  believe  they  were  very  bad 
men.  They  wouldn't  have  stolen  anything 
or  hurt  anybody.  But,  Mark  says,  they 
figgered  out  this  was  a  business  deal  that 
they  were  getting  the  best  of.  Lots  of  folks 
can't  see  just  honest  when  their  business  is 
mixed  up  in  what  they  do. 

"You're  beat,  anyhow,"  I  says  to  him.  I 
didn't  say  it  mean,  but  just  as  if  I  believed  it. 

"Maybe  so,"  says  he.  "Maybe  so,  but 
we  hain't  given  up  yet." 

"We'll  git  away,"  says  Tallow. 

"More'n  likely,"  says  he,  "but  Collins  and 
me  we'll  do  our  best  to  keep  you." 

"What  if  Uncle  Hieronymous  should  come 
and  find  you  keepin*  us  prisoners?"  says  I. 
"He'd  sort  of  suspect  somethin',  wouldn't  he?" 

"I  calc'late  he  would,  now.  But  Collins 
and  me  we  hain't  aiming  to  let  him  discover 
us  keeping  you  prisoners.  One  of  us  is  going 
to  find  him." 

"Huh!"  says  I.    "You  can't  do  it." 

"Maybe  not,"  says  he.    "Can't  never  tell. 

But  we'll  try.    Now,  boys,  go  on  back  in  the 

house  like  I  said.    I  don't  want  to  get  harsh 

with  you,  not  a  mite.    But  you  got  to  mind.1* 

95 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

We  went.  Once  inside,  and  Mark  locked 
the  door  again. 

''We  want  to  look  out  for  that  fat  man," 
says  he.  "He's  cunnin'.  You  can't  f-f-fool 
him  easy.  Don't  you  think  you  can." 

"I  don't  think  anything  about  it,"  says  I. 
"Now  let's  git  somethin'  to  eat.  I'm  starvin'." 


CHAPTER  VII 

YOU  may  think  it  would  be  an  easy  thing 
to  sneak  out  of  Uncle  Hieronymous's 
cabin  without  being  seen.  To  anybody  who 
doesn't  know  just  how  things  were  it  would 
seem  as  if  there  wouldn't  be  any  trouble 
about  it  at  all,  but  there  was,  just  the  same. 
In  the  first  place,  the  cabin  was  little — only 
three  rooms.  All  the  door  there  was  opened 
out  of  the  back,  and  the  two  men  were  guard- 
ing that.  On  the  side  of  the  cabin  at  the 
right  of  the  door  there  wasn't  a  window,  and 
there  was  only  one  at  the  end  opposite. 
There  were  two  windows  on  the  left-hand  side 
and  one  alongside  the  door.  This  was  the 
window  uncle  used  to  feed  Martha  and  Mary 
through.  You  see  right  away  there  were  two 
sides  we  couldn't  get  out  of — the  one  with 
no  windows  in  it  and  the  one  where  the  door 
was.  As  soon  as  Collins  came  back  they 
fixed  the  back  end  so  we  couldn't  escape 
97 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

there,  and  it  wasn't  any  trick  at  all — they 
just  nailed  the  window  down  on  the  outside. 

"Collins  n-n-never  thought  of  that,"  says 
Mark  Tidd.  "It  was  the  f-f-fat  feller." 

"Huh!"  I  grunted,  because  I  knew  just 
what  he  was  thinking.  He  had  it  all  figured 
out  Jiggins  must  be  smart  just  because  he 
was  fat.  "I  guess  skinny  folks  has  some 
brains,"  I  says. 

"Anyhow,"  says  he,  "these  folks  have 
f-f-fixed  it  so  we're  goin'  to  have  to  use  our 
b-b-brains  to  git  out.  Let's  think  things 
over." 

He  sat  down  and  began  pulling  at  his  fat 
cheek  the  way  he  always  does  when  he's  study- 
ing hard,  and  his  little  eyes  were  almost  shut. 
But  you  should  have  seen  how  they  twinkled — 
what  you  could  see  of  them.  The  other  three 
of  us  sat  down  and  thought  too,  but  nobody 
seemed  to  have  much  luck  at  it. 

"The  s-s-savages,"  says  Mark,  "have 
stopped  up  one  openin'  to  this  c-c-cavern." 
He  meant  the  end  where  Jiggins  nailed  down 
the  window.  "Then,"  says  he,  "there's 
nothin*  but  solid  rock  on  that  s-s-side.  If 
we  g-g-git  out  it  must  be  through  the  reg'lar 
openin'  [he  meant  the  door]  or  over  on  th-th- 
98 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

this  side.  But,"  says  he,  "they're  w-w- watch- 
in'  there." 

Just  then  we  heard  a  hammering,  and  when 
we  looked  there  was  Jiggins  nailing  up  the 
windows  on  the  left  side. 

Mark  shook  his  head  and  acted  like  he 
was  actually  proud  of  Jiggins.  "That's  what 
I'd  'a'  d-d-done  myself,"  says  he.  "Now 
we  got  to  g-g-git  out  right  at  that  end  where 
they're  w-w-watchin'." 

We  all  went  to  the  back  window  and  looked 
out. 

"It's  goin'  to  be  a  reg'lar  siege,"  I  says,  for 
Collins  was  just  putting  up  a  little  tent. 

"They'll  never  let  us  g-git  away  with  the 
jewel,"  says  Mark;  and  he  took  that  old 
door-knob  out  of  his  pocket  and  looked  at 
it  as  if  it  was  worth  a  million  dollars. 

The  tent  wasn't  a  regular  tent.  It  was 
just  a  square  of  canvas.  Collins  stretched  a 
rope  between  two  small  trees  that  grew  about 
ten  feet  from  the  door  and  threw  his  canvas 
over  it.  Then  he  staked  down  the  edges 
and  had  a  good  shelter  to  sleep  in. 

"How  many  s-s-savages  do  you  count?" 
Mark  asked. 

"Two,"  says  Tallow,  without  thinking. 

99 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Two!"  snorted  Mark.  "You  must  be 
b-b-blind.  I  see  two  war  parties  with  fifty  in 
each  of  th-them.  That  makes  a  hundred, 
don't  it?" 

"Sure,"  says  Tallow.    "I  wasn't  thinkin'." 

"If  we  d-d-don't  git  out  'fore  night,"  says 
Mark,  "I  got  a  scheme  for  givin'  'em  a 
s-scare,  anyhow." 

"What  is  it?"  Plunk  wanted  to  know;  but 
Mark  wouldn't  tell  him.  Mark  always  was 
that  way.  If  he  had  a  plan  he  wouldn't  tell 
it  to  a  soul  till  he  had  to.  I  guess  he  was 
naturally  good  at  keeping  a  secret.  You 
couldn't  get  anything  out  of  him  he  didn't 
want  to  tell  if  you  offered  him  the  Wicksville 
bank  and  all  the  money  in  it. 

"Let's  th-th-think  of  dinner,"  says  Mark. 
"  It's  twelve  o'clock.  We  haven't  eaten  f-f-for 
two  hours." 

Collins  and  Jiggins  were  cooking  their  din- 
ner over  a  fire  outside.  They  saw  us  looking 
out  at  them,  and  Jiggins  called: 

"Not  hungry,  boys?  Oh  no!  Certainly 
not!  If  your  appetites  get  to  stirring  around 
let  us  know.  You  will,  won't  you?  To  be 
sure." 

"We    c-can    lend    you    some    c-c-canned 

100 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

stuff,"  says  Mark,  "if  you  haven't  all  you 
n-need." 

That  sort  of  made  Collins's  face  fall,  but 
Jiggins  went  on  grinning. 

"No  matter,"  says  he.  "Can't  starve  you 
out,  eh?  Don't  care.  Keep  you  shut  up, 
just  the  same.  Can't  get  out,  eh?  Windows 
stuck.  Stuck  tight.  How  d'you  s'pose  that 
happened?" 

"I  c-c-could  tell  you  somethin'  else  to  do," 
says  Mark,  "but  I  guess  I  won't." 

"What's  that?  What's  that?"  Jiggins 
was  paying  attention.  You  could  see  by  his 
face  he  had  considerable  respect  for  Mark. 
"Guess  I'll  study  over  it  a  bit,"  says  he. 
"Study  does  it.  Sure."  Then  he  began 
singing  his  tune  again,  "  Tee-dum-dee.  Dee- 
dle-deedle-dum. ' ' 

"There's  a  way  to  do  everything,"  says 
Mark,  "even  to  get  out  of  this  cabin." 

"To  be  sure,"  says  Jiggins.  "No  doubt. 
But  find  it,  my  boy.  Find  it.  That's  the 
difficulty,  eh?  Easy  to  say,  not  easy  to  do." 

We  went  back  in  the  other  room  after  we 
had  our  dinner,  and  Mark  read  to  us  out  of  a 
book  he  had  in  his  satchel.  It  was  a  dandy 
book,  and  the  name  of  it  was  Kidnapped. 

101 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

There  was  a  fellow  in  it  by  the  name  of  Alan 
Breck  who  was  a  hummer.  I  liked  him  better 
than  I  did  the  real  hero  of  the  book,  who 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  dumb-headed  sort  of 
fellow.  Maybe  that  was  because  he  was 
Scotch.  Plunk  Smalley  is  Scotch,  and  some- 
times we  have  the  hardest  time  getting  things 
into  his  head. 

There  wasn't  anything  else  to  do,  so  we 
read  all  the  afternoon,  taking  turns.  Mark 
said  the  same  man  who  wrote  that  book  was 
the  author  of  a  lot  more.  Right  there  I  made 
up  my  mind  I'd  read  every  one  of  them,  and 
so  did  the  other  fellows. 

You'd  be  surprised  to  hear  how  quickly 
the  afternoon  went  past.  If  ever  you  have 
a  dull  day  on  your  hands  just  get  a  book  by 
that  man;  his  name  is  Stevenson;  and — well, 
there's  no  use  telling  about  it,  you  never 
will  understand  until  you  do  it. 

We  didn't  even  want  to  stop  for  supper, 
but  Mark  said  it  was  our  duty  to  eat.  Maybe 
it  was;  anyhow,  nobody  ever  heard  of  Mark 
Tidd  shirking  that  particular  sort  of  duty. 

After  we  were  through  Mark  had  Tallow 
get  on  a  chair  and  haul  down  a  long  cane 
fish-pole  Uncle  Hieronymous  had  laying  across 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

nails  driven  in  the  wall.  He  took  his  knife 
and  cut  off  the  small  end. 

' '  What  you  doin'  ? "  I  asked  him.  ' '  Maybe 
uncle  wants  that  pole." 

"Calc'late,"  says  he,  "your  uncle  would 
want  his  mine  worse.  Wouldn't  he?" 

I  didn't  answer  back,  but  stood  and  watched 
to  see  what  he  was  up  to.  When  he  had  the 
pole  cut  off  he  went  into  the  kitchen  and  got 
the  knife  uncle  used  to  clean  fish.  It  was  a 
heavy  knife,  and  sharp.  Why,  you  could 
have  shaved  with  it,  I  bet. 

"Git  some  st-st-strong  twine,"  says  Mark 
to  me. 

I  rummaged  around  until  I  found  a  whole 
ball  of  it.  Mark  took  it  as  calm  as  could  be 
without  even  saying  "much  obliged."  Then 
what  should  he  do  but  begin  to  lash  the  fish- 
knife  to  the  end  of  the  fish-pole.  All  the  time 
he  never  said  a  word.  He  was  that  way 
always — liked  to  get  you  all  worked  up  and 
curious.  If  you  asked  a  question  he  wouldn't 
tell  you  a  thing.  He  was  almost  mean 
about  it. 

When  he  had  the  knife  fastened  he  laid 
the  whole  thing  down  on  the  floor.  It  looked 
like  a  spear.  From  one  end  to  the  other  it 
103 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

was  about  twenty  feet  long,  and  I'll  bet  any 
savage  would  have  been  glad  to  get  hold  of  it, 
for  it  would  have  been  a  weapon  like  he  never 
imagined. 

"Goin'  to  spear  'em?"  Tallow  asked. 

"Nope,"  says  Mark;  "this  is  to  k-k-kill 
mosquitoes." 

We  knew  it  wasn't  any  use  to  bother  him 
any  more.  He'd  tell  us  about  it  when  he  was 
ready,  and  not  a  minnit  before.  It  didn't 
matter  how  mad  we  got.  When  he  took  it 
into  his  head  the  time  to  tell  had  come  he'd 
tell,  and  horses  couldn't  drag  it  out  of  him 
before. 

"I  don't  see  any  sense  to  it,"  I  told  him, 
because  I  thought  possibly  I  could  make  him 
mad  and  so  get  him  to  tell,  but  it  didn't 
work. 

"You  ain't  expected  to,"  was  all  he  said. 

We  lighted  the  lamp  and  read  some  more 
Kidnapped.  Mosquitoes  were  buzzing  around, 
and  a  couple  of  times  I  felt  like  telling  Mark 
it  was  time  to  begin  on  them  with  his  spear, 
but  I  didn't.  Sometimes  it's  safer  not  to  make 
remarks  to  him.  He's  fat  and  he  stutters, 
but  that  doesn't  keep  him  from  thinking  as 
quickly  as  anybody  else.  The  fellow  that 
104 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

goes  monkeying  with  Mark  Tidd  is  apt  to 
get  a  little  better  than  he  gives. 

Once  or  twice  Mark  got  up  to  look  out  of 
the  window  at  the  camp  of  the  enemy. 
"The  f-f-fat  chief  is  on  guard,"  he  says.  "I 
can't  see  the  thin  one.  Maybe  he's  layin'  in 
a-a-ambush  in  case  we  t-t-try  to  make  a 
rush." 

Another  time  he  reported:  "They've  g-got 
a  smudge  to  keep  off  mosquitoes.  Bet  they're 
bitin'  out  there." 

"Wonder  if  they'll  keep  guard  all  night?" 
asked  Tallow. 

Mark  just  looked  at  him.  Then  he  says, 
sarcastic-like :  "Naw;  'course  not.  They 
know  we're  afraid  of  the  d-d-dark,  don't 
they?  What's  the  use  of  keepin*  g-g-guard?" 

The  third  time  he  went  to  the  window  he 
stayed  quite  a  while. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

He  motioned  with  his  hand  for  me  to  keep 
quiet;  then  in  a  few  minnits  he  came  back 
and  sat  down  without  a  word. 

"What  was  going  on?"  Plunk  wanted  to 
know. 

"I  guess  the  f-f-fat  chief  has  turned  in. 
The  thin  one  is  k-keeping  watch."  You  see, 
105 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

it  had  to  be  a  game  all  the  time.  What  was 
actually  going  on  wasn't  enough  for  Mark. 
If  we  really  were  besieged  by  white  savages 
in  the  middle  of  Africa  with  a  big  jewel  in 
our  hands  that  we'd  stolen,  he  would  have 
up  and  played  we  were  in  a  cabin  up  near 
the  source  of  the  Pe~re  Marquette  River, 
watched  by  a  couple  of  men  who  wanted  to 
keep  us  from  warning  Uncle  Hieronymous. 
I  never  could  see  the  sense  to  a  lot  of  his 
games,  but,  after  all,  we  had  a  lot  of  fun. 
Not  as  much  as  he  did,  though. 

"It's  dark,"  says  Mark.  Then  he  grinned 
at  us  and  looked  at  his  spear.  '"Most  time 
to  git  after  those  m-m-mosquitoes,"  says  he. 

He  picked  up  the  spear  and  looked  careful 
at  the  way  the  knife  was  fastened  onto  the 
end  of  it ;  then  he  felt  of  the  edge  of  the  knife 
to  be  sure  it  was  sharp.  All  this  time  he 
never  said  a  word,  though  he  knew  we  were 
so  interested  we  could  hardly  keep  from 
rolling  off  our  chairs  onto  the  floor. 

"Wonder  if  I  c-c-could  git  up  into  the 
attic?"  he  says. 

In  the  dining-room  ceiling  was  a  square 
place  to  get  up  into  the  loft,  but  there  wasn't 
any  way  to  reach  it. 

Mi 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Wish  we  had  a  step-ladder,"  says  I. 

"Might  as  well  w-w-wish  for  a  pair  of 
st-st-stairs,"  says  he.  "We  got  to  find  some 
other  way." 

We  left  it  to  him;  he  was  better  than  we 
were  at  finding  ways;  and,  most  likely,  if  one 
of  us  had  found  a  way  he  wouldn't  have 
used  it,  no  matter  how  good  it  was.  He 
was  pretty  fond  of  thinking  up  things  himself. 
He  liked  to  astonish  folks. 

Not  that  this  was  very  difficult.  All  he 
did  was  have  the  table  moved  under  the 
opening  and  a  chair  put  on  it.  By  standing 
on  the  chair  it  was  easy  for  an  ordinary  boy 
to  get  up  into  the  loft.  It  wasn't  quite  so 
easy  for  Mark,  but  he  got  around  that  part 
of  it  by  piling  a  box  on  the  seat  of  the  chair 
and  getting  on  top  of  that.  When  he  stood 
there  his  shoulders  were  through  the  opening. 
He  got  his  arms  in  and  began  to  wriggle 
through.  It  was  a  tight  fit,  and  there's  no 
doubt  it  was  mighty  funny  to  watch.  Mark 
wriggled  and  squirmed.  His  legs  thrashed 
around  and  sawed  the  air,  but  he  kept  at  it. 
He  grunted  and  groaned  and  tugged  and 
pulled.  For  a  while  it  looked  as  though  he 
was  too  big  for  the  hole  and  would  stick  in 
s  107 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

it  till  we  hauled  him  down  by  the  legs,  but 
after  ten  minutes  of  hard  work  he  pushed 
and  hunched  himself  up. 

For  a  while  he  sat  with  his  legs  dangling 
and  panted.  When  he  was  rested  he  called 
down  to  us,  cautious-like,  and  says:  "Pass 
up  the  spear.  And  k-keep  quiet.  One  of 
you  c-can  come  up.  The  others  better 
s-s-sneak  to  the  back  window  and  watch. 
But  keep  still.  D-don't  breathe." 

I  was  up  on  the  table  and  half  through  the 
hole  before  the  other  fellows  had  a  chance  to 
object,  so  they  had  to  go  to  the  back  window. 

Mark  crawled  to  the  back  of  the  house, 
careful  and  slow.  You  had  to  be  careful, 
whether  you  wanted  to  or  not,  because  there 
wasn't  any  floor — just  joists  with  lath  and 
plaster  between.  I  followed  him  as  close  as 
I  could.  There  was  a  little  window  about  a 
foot  square  that  overlooked  the  tent  where 
the  enemy  were,  and  Mark  was  making  for  it. 

"Wonder  if  it'll  c-c-come  out?"  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Dun'noY'saysI. 

We  tried  it,  but  it  didn't  seem  to  want  to 
open.  Mark  studied  it  awhile  and  fussed 
around  with  it.  It  was  hot  and  dusty  and 
108 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

uncomfortable  up  there,  and  I  hoped  he  would 
be  able  to  let  a  bit  of  air  in  before  long.  Just 
then  the  window  gave  with  a  little  creak, 
and  came  back  in  Mark's  hands. 

' 'Wheel"  he  whispered.  "Now  p-pass  me 
the  spear." 

I  handed  it  to  him  and  he  poked  it  out  of 
the  window  a  little  at  a  time,  not  making  a 
sound.  I  didn't  know  what  he  was  up  to,  but 
somehow  the  darkness  and  the  stillness  and 
one  thing  and  another  made  me  so  excited 
I  could  hardly  breathe.  I  crowded  as  close 
to  Mark  as  I  could  and  looked  over  his  shoul- 
der. I  could  see  the  tent  below  us,  with 
Collins  leaning  against  a  tree  not  five  feet 
away  from  it.  Mark  didn't  move,  but  just 
held  out  his  fish-pole  spear  and  waited. 

After  quite  a  while  Collins  got  up  and  went 
over  to  the  tent.  He  stooped  and  reached 
inside.  It  looked  as  if  he  couldn't  reach  what 
he  wanted,  so  he  crawled  in  careful-like,  so 
as  not  to  wake  Jiggins.  Mark  chuckled. 

Then  he  reached  out  with  the  knife  on  the 
end  of  his  fish-pole  and  brought  it  down  ker- 
snap  on  the  rope  that  held  up  the  tent.  The 
rope  was  tight,  and  the  knife  was  sharp.  He 
didn't  have  to  whack  it  again.  We  could  hear 
109 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

the  rope  snap;  then  the  tent  just  sort  of 
plumped  down  on  Collins  and  Jiggins.  Mark 
hauled  in  his  spear  quick,  and  we  waited  to  see 
what  would  happen.  A  lot  did  happen  quick. 

We  could  see  a  floundering  and  flapping 
around  under  the  canvas.  Collins  let  out  a 
startled  yell.  Jiggins  was  waked  up  suddenly, 
and  didn't  like  it  very  well,  I  guess,  for  he 
yelled,  too.  Then  the  canvas  began  to  roll 
and  jump  and  wabble  in  the  funniest  way 
you  ever  saw.  Both  men  yelled  and  hollered 
and  kicked  and  thrashed  around  until  Jiggins 
got  his  head  out  at  one  end.  I  laughed  out 
loud  when  I  saw  him  crawl  from  under.  He 
looked  as  though  he'd  been  trying  to  butt 
through  a  cyclone,  and  he  looked  scared.  In 
a  minnit  Collins  worked  out  of  the  other  end. 
They  just  looked  at  each  other. 

' '  You  put  up  that  tent , ' '  said  Jiggins.  ' '  You 
did.  Of  course  you  did.  Nobody  else."  He 
was  mad  clear  through. 

"What  made  it  come  down?"  Collins  asked, 
bewildered-like. 

They  both  walked  over  to  the  nearest  tree 
and  felt  of  the  rope.  Jiggins  pulled  the  loose 
end  to  him  and  looked  at  it.  He  chuckled, 
and  his  chuckle  sounded  sort  of  like  Mark's. 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Should  have  known  better,"  he  said. 
"Fat  boy.  Nobody's  fool.  Might  have 
known.  Snipped  the  rope.  Don't  know 
how.  He  found  a  way.  Look  out  for  that 
boy.  Look  out  for  him,  eh?  You  bet." 

He  turned  toward  the  house  and  grinned. 
" You're  all  right,  fat  kid,"  says  he.  "That 
scores  one  for  you." 

Mark  and  I  started  to  get  down  again.  I 
managed  all  right,  but  he  had  quite  a  time 
of  it.  When  we  were  down  we  went  to  the 
back  window  with  Plunk  and  Tallow.  Collins 
and  Jiggins  were  moving  their  tent  about  ten 
feet  farther  from  the  house. 

"Well,"  says  I  to  him,  "that  was  fun,  all 
right,  but  what  good  did  it  do?" 

He  pointed  to  the  tent.  "It  m-moves  them 
another  t-ten  feet  away,"  says  he.  "That 
may  be  important  p-p-pretty  soon." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  time  for  us  to  go  to  bed,  but  Mark 
called  us  into  the  dining-room  to  a  council 
of  war.  We  sat  down  around  the  table,  with 
Mark  at  the  head.  He  started  talking  almost 
in  a  whisper. 

"S-s-speak  low,"  says  he.  "We  don't  want 
the  enemy  to  overhear  our  plans." 

That  was  right,  for  they  might  have  sneaked 
up  to  the  side  of  the  house  to  listen.  Mark 
wasn't  the  sort  of  fellow  to  neglect  any  pre- 
caution just  because  it  might  not  be  neces- 
sary. Sometimes  I  thought  he  was  too  cau- 
tious, but  usually  it  turned  out  he  did  the 
right  thing. 

"We  can't  g-git  out  of  here  by  daylight," 
he  says.  "It's  got  to  be  at  n-n-night  or  early 
in  the  morning.  Morning's  the  best  time, 
'cause  folks  are  t-t-tired  with  watchin'.  'Bout 
three  in  the  m-mornin'." 

"You  seem  pretty  sure  we're  goin'  to  git 
out,"  says  I. 

112 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

"We  got  to  git  out,"  says  he,  just  as  if 
that  settled  it.  It  didn't  seem  to  enter  his 
head  that  sometimes  folks  can't  do  things 
they  think  they've  got  to  do. 

"All  right,"  says  I,  but  I  was  feeling  sort 
of  hopeless.  "Let's  git  at  it.  We're  losin' 
time." 

"We  w- won't  lose  any  more,"  Mark  says. 
"Has  your  uncle  got  a  shovel?" 

"I  dun'rio',"  says  I;  "and  if  he  has  it's 
out  in  the  barn." 

"Then  we  g-g-got  to  make  one." 

"How?" 

"Out  of  a  board.  Whittle  it.  We  better 
make  a  c-couple  while  we're  at  it." 

There  was  a  big  soap-box  in  the  kitchen 
that  Uncle  Hieronymous  used  for  a  sort  of 
table.  Mark  decided  this  would  do  all  right, 
so  we  pulled  it  apart,  and  he  and  I  set  to 
work  whittling  shovels  out  of  it.  They  were 
pretty  clumsy,  but  Mark  said  they  were  all 
right,  and  so  long  as  they  suited  him  they 
were  good  enough  for  me. 

"N-n-now,"  says  he,  "we  want  a  hatchet." 

"It's  in  the  cupboard,"  says  I.  "What 
you  want  of  it?" 

"P-p-pry  up  a  board  in  the  floor,"  says  he. 
"3 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"You  can't  crawl  out  under  the  house. 
There  isn't  any  opening.  The  logs  go  down 
to  the  ground  all  the  way  around." 

"I  knew  it,"  he  says.  "What  you  s'pose 
the  sh-sh-shovels  are  for?" 

I  got  the  hatchet,  and  we  decided  it  was 
best  to  pull  up  a  board  in  the  kitchen,  where 
they  were  wider.  The  kitchen  floor  was 
rough  lumber,  and  some  boards  were  eight 
inches  wide,  with  cracks  between. 

"It'll  make  a  n-noise,"  says  Mark,  "and 
they'll  suspect  we're  up  to  somethin'."  H£ 
thought  a  minnit,  pulling  hard  on  his  cheek. 
Then  he  got  down  the  dish-pan  and  handed  it 
to  Plunk  and  gave  Tallow  a  couple  of  milk- 
pans. 

"When  we  b-begin  work,"  says  he,  "you 
make  a  racket.  Keep  at  it  steady."  All  of 
a  sudden  he  looked  disgusted  and  kind  of 
sorry  for  himself.  He  shook  his  head  and 
slapped  his  leg.  "There,"  says  he,  "I  almost 
forgot  the  window.  Hang  a  quilt  over  it, 
Binney,  so's  they  can't  see  in." 

I  did  that,  and  then  we  went  to  work  on 

the  floor,  but  first  I  told  Mark  I  had  a  better 

noise-maker  than  a  tin  pan.    I  got  it  out  of 

my  satchel.     It  was  a  tin  can  with  a  string 

114 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

through  it.  There  was  a  piece  of  resin,  too, 
and  when  you  put  the  can  against  a  window 
and  pulled  the  string  it  let  out  a  racket  that 
would  scare  a  crow.  Tallow  took  that  and 
started  in.  Plunk  pounded  on  the  pans. 
All  of  us  war-whooped. 

It  was  hard  work  getting  up  the  board, 
and  we  made  a  lot  of  noise  at  it,  but  I  don't 
believe  Jiggins  and  Collins  ever  noticed  any- 
thing besides  the  squealing  squawk  of  the 
tin  can  and  the  banging  on  the  pans  and  the 
hollering.  It  must  have  surprised  them  some, 
and  I  bet  they  wondered  what  we  were  up 
to.  At  last  we  got  two  boards  up.  That 
gave  us  plenty  of  space  to  crawl  through. 

Mark  signaled  to  Tallow  and  Plunk  to  let 
up  their  racket.  My,  but  it  sounded  quiet 
when  they  stopped!  You  never  know  how 
quiet  stillness  is  until  a  big  noise  stops  all  of 
a  sudden.  Collins  began  to  yell  outside. 

"Hey!"  says  he,  "what  you  kids  doing? 
Think  this  is  the  Fourth  of  July?" 

"We  were  j-j-just  trying  to  keep  from 
f-fallin'  asleep,"  says  Mark. 

Collins  laughed.  It  wasn't  a  mad  laugh, 
but  a  really -truly  good-natured  one.  "I 
hope  you'll  get  through  before  I  go  off  watch. 
"5 


MARK   TIDD   IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

It's  rather  company  for  me  while  I'm  up, 
but  most  likely  my  friend  Jiggins  won't  ap- 
preciate it." 

"He  don't,"  came  a  sleepy  voice.  "Not 
any.  Decidedly  not.  First,  down  comes 
tent.  Second,  hullabalee.  Quit  it.  Quit  it." 

"G-guess  we  will,"  says  Mark.  "Good 
night." 

They  both  called  good  night,  friendly-like. 
It  hardly  seemed  we  were  prisoners  and  they 
were  enemy,  but  all  the  same  that  was*  the 
fact.  I've  heard  about  pickets  in  the  Civil 
War  meeting  between  the  lines  and  exchang- 
ing things  and  being  good  friends,  only  to 
try  to  shoot  each  other  next  morning,  and 
it  didn't  seem  exactly  possible.  I  couldn't 
see  how  a  man  you  liked  could  be  your  enemy 
and  how  you  could  try  to  beat  him,  but  I 
do  now. 

Mark  wiggled  his  ringer  at  us,  and  we 
gathered  in  a  little  knot  around  him,  with 
our  heads  close  together. 

"We'll  divide  into  two  w- watches,"  he 
stuttered.  "Binney  and  I  will  w-w-watch 
first.  Two  hours.  Then  Tallow  and  Plunk. 
By  mornin'  we  must  have  it  d-d-dug." 

"Have  what  dug?" 

116 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"The  tunnel,"  says  Mark.  "We're  prison- 
ers in  Andersonville,  hain't  we?  D-d-didn't 
the  rebels  capture  us,  and  hain't  we  starvin'? 
I'd  like  to  know  if  we  hain't.  Look  out  of  the 
window  and  you  c-can  see  gray-coated  guards 
with  m-muskets." 

Here  was  a  surprise.  We  weren't  shut  into 
a  cave  by  white  savages  any  longer.  We 
didn't  have  any  jewel  out  of  an  idol.  We 
were  nothing  but  Union  soldiers  in  a  rebel 
prison. 

"Binney  and  I  will  d-dig  two  hours," 
Mark  says.  "Then  we'll  wake  you.  You 
d-dig  two  hours  and  wake  us.  It's  got  to 
be  d-d-done  before  daylight." 

Plunk  and  Tallow  went  to  bed  with  their 
clothes  on  while  Mark  and  I  put  out  the  light 
and  crowded  under  the  floor.  There  was 
plenty  of  room  when  we  got  down,  but  it 
was  dark  as  a  pocket.  Mark  lighted  the 
lantern. 

"Won't  they  see  that?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  says  he.  "There  hain't  no  ch-chinks." 

We  crawled  to  the  front  of  the  house  and 

began  to  dig  with  our  wooden  shovels.     The 

digging  was  easy  because  the  house  sat  on 

a  regular  sand-pit.    All  that  country  is  sand, 

117 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

anyhow.  Mark  says  it  was  probably  the 
shore  of  Lake  Michigan  once,  and  that  the 
lake  kept  throwing  up  sand  and  throwing 
up  sand  until  it  crowded  itself  back  fifty 
miles  or  so.  Maybe  that  is  so,  but  it  took  a 
mighty  long  time  to  do  it. 

The  worst  part  of  the  digging  was  the  way 
sand  kept  running  back  into  the  hole.  We 
couldn't  stop  it,  and  so  we  had  to^dig  about 
four  times  as  much  as  we  would  if  it  had 
only  stayed  where  it  belonged.  We  never 
rested,  though,  and  by  the  end  of  our  two 
hours  we  had  a  good  deep  hole  dug.  We'd 
got  below  the  logs.  Plunk  and  Tallow  would 
have  to  make  the  hole  larger  and  begin  to 
tunnel  under.  It  looked  to  me  as  if  we  could 
finish  all  right  in  our  second  two  hours. 
That  would  bring  us  out  about  three 
o'clock. 

I  slept  like  a  log  until  Tallow  waked  me 
up.  It  didn't  seem  as  though  I'd  got  my 
head  down  on  the  pillow,  and  for  a  minnit 
I  didn't  want  to  get  up.  I  didn't  care  if  we 
never  escaped.  But  Tallow  kept  on  shaking 
me  and  yanking  me  till  I  was  roused,  and  then 
it  was  all  right.  Mark  and  I  went  under  the 
house  again,  and  I  want  to  say  that  Tallow 
118 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

and  Plunk  had  worked  like  beavers.  They'd 
done  a  lot  more  than  I  expected  they  would. 
Mark  was  tickled,  too. 

"Now,"  says  he,  "we  got  to  work  f-f-fast." 
We  did.  The  dirt  flew.  We  found  out, 
though,  that  tunneling  in  sand  isn't  all  it 
might  be  cracked  up  to  be.  The  digging  is 
easy,  but  the  roof  don't  stay  up.  I  had  my 
head  and  shoulders  through  under  the  logs 
tunneling  away  while  Mark  took  my  sand 
and  threw  it  out  of  the  hold.  Maybe  I  went 
at  it  too  hard,  or  maybe  it  would  have  done 
what  it  did,  anyhow,  but  all  of  a  sudden  the 
whole  roof  gave  way  and  came  down  onto 
me  kerplunk.  It  buried  my  head  and  arms 
and  shoulders,  and  I  want  to  stop  right  here 
to  say  that  I  was  the  scairtest  boy  in  the 
state  of  Michigan.  I  thought  I  was  a  goner. 
I  couldn't  breathe  or  holler  or  anything.  The 
sand  was  so  heavy  I  couldn't  move,  and  I 
guess  if  Mark  hadn't  been  right  there  to  see 
what  was  going  on  I'd  have  smothered, 
sure.  He  didn't  waste  any  time,  though,  but 
grabbed  me  by  the  feet  and  yanked  me  out 
a-kiting.  I  was  full  of  sand — eyes,  mouth, 
ears — and  it  was  a  couple  of  minnits  before 
I  could  force  myself  back  to  work.  But  I 
119 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

did,  and  Mark  patted  me  on  the  back.  That 
made  me  feel  pretty  good,  I  tell  you. 

From  then  on  there  wasn't  any  tunneling 
to  speak  of.  All  we  had  to  do  was  clear  out 
the  sand  that  had  caved  in.  In  an  hour  we 
had  a  hole  big  enough  to  crawl  through,  and 
only  had  to  tear  out  the  sod  that  hadn't 
caved  in  to  get  out.  It  was  half  past  two 
by  Mark's  watch.  We  crept  back  to  the 
loose  boards  and  got  into  the  house  again. 

It  was  hard  to  wake  Tallow  and  Plunk, 
but  we  did. 

"You  f-f -fellows  have  got  to  stay  here," 
says  Mark.  "Binney  and  I  will  g-go.  Bin- 
ney's  got  a  right  to  go  'cause  it's  his  u-uncle, 
and  I  got  to  go  to  1-look  after  things." 

There  wasn't  any  argument  about  that. 

"Jiggins  and  C-Collins  mustn't  discover 
we've  gone  for  a  1-long  time,"  says  Mark. 
"  You  two  have  g-g-got  to  act  like  four.  Make 
'em  think  we're  all  h-here.  Understand?" 

"Sure,"  says  Tallow  and  Plunk. 

"And  when  they  f-f -find  out,  don't  tell 
which  way  we  went." 

"What  d'you  take  us  for?"  Tallow  says. 

"We'll  git  back  as  s-s-soon  as  we  can,"  Mark 
told  them.  "But  maybe  it  '11  be  a  w-week." 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

"We'll  be  all  right,"  says  Plunk. 

Mark  turned  to  me.  "Git  that  p-pail  of 
paint,"  he  says,  "and  the  brush.  I'll  cany 
the  hammer  and  a  paper  of  tacks  and  that 
chunk  of  c-c-canvas  hangin'  there." 

"What  for?"  I  asked. 

"We're  goin'  in  a  c-canoe,  hain't  we?" 

"Yes." 

"D-down  a  river  we  don't  know?" 

"Yes." 

"With  stones  and  d-dead-heads  in  it?" 

"Sure." 

"If  we  hit  one  of  'em,  what  '11  h-happen?" 

"We'll  bust  the  canoe." 

"That,"  says  he,  "is  the  reason  for  the 
p-p-paint  and  things." 

Now,  I  never  would  have  thought  of  that. 
It  was  just  another  example  of  the  way  he 
took  precautions  and  got  ready  for  accidents 
that  might  never  happen.  But  don't  you 
ever  think  he  wasn't  right  this  time.  If  he 
hadn't  brought  that  mess  of  stuff  we — 
well,  there's  no  telling  what  would  have  hap- 
pened to  us.  Anyhow,  it  was  mighty  lucky 
we  had  it  along. 

"Come  on,  Binney,"  says  Mark. 

Now    that    the    practical    explaining    was 

121 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

over,  Mark  got  back  to  his  game  of  Union 
prisoners  again. 

"  G-g-good-by,  comrades,"  says  he.  "I've 
been  chosen  to  go  f-f-first.  Maybe  I  won't 
never  see  you  again." 

He  looked  like  he  was  going  to  cry.  Maybe 
you  won't  think  this  is  so,  but  when  Mark 
Tidd  was  pretending  anything  he  pretended 
so  hard  he  really  believed  he  wasn't  pretending 
at  all. 

"The  next  man,"  says  he  to  me,  "will 
start  in  f-five  minnits  if  he  don't  hear  the 
crack  of  a  gun.  If  he  d-d-does  he  better  not 
come.  That  will  mean  I  was  d-discovered — 
and  killed,  most  likely."  He  started  through 
the  hole  in  the  floor.  "Five  minnits,"  says 
he,  and  disappeared.  But  he  poked  his  head 
up  once  more. 

"G-gimme  the  clothes-line,"  says  he. 

I  handed  it  to  him,  and  he  disappeared  for 
good. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  was  pretty  hard  to  wait  five  minutes 
before  I  started,  and  it  was  exciting,  too. 
We  were  so  still  it  made  me  nervous,  but 
we  just  couldn't  talk,  for  we  were  listening 
— listening  to  hear  if  Mark  was  discovered. 
Minute  after  minute  went  by,  and  we  didn't 
hear  a  sound,  so  we  concluded  he  had  got 
away  safely.  At  last  my  time  came.  I  said 
good-by  to  the  fellows  and  went  through  the 
floor.  This  time  there  was  no  lantern,  and 
I  had  to  crawl  under  the  house  in  that  black 
darkness.  I  found  the  hole,  all  right.  But 
I  would  rather  have  found  it  some  other  way, 
for  I  fell  into  it  and  got  my  mouth  full  of 
sand  again.  It  was  lucky  the  cover  of  the 
paint-pail  was  on  tight,  or  I'd  have  spilled  it. 
It  was  no  trick  at  all  to  claw  through  the 
little  tunnel  and  get  out  on  the  other  side. 
It  was  dark  out  of  doors — dark  and  cold  and 
lonesome.  Around  at  the  front  of  the  house 
I  could  hear  some  one  stirring — I  don't  know 
9  123 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

whether  it  was  Jiggins  or  Collins — and  that 
made  me  pretty  careful. 

I  crept  straight  back,  keeping  the  house 
between  me  and  the  enemy  until  I  got  to 
some  underbrush.  I  ducked  into  this  and 
swung  around  to  the  direction  where  the 
canoe  lay.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  it  was 
easy  to  find  that  path  through  the  bushes 
that  led  to  the  canoe.  It  wasn't.  I  came 
very  near  to  getting  lost,  but  I  found  where 
the  path  began  at  last  and  hurried  down  it, 
taking  all  the  pains  I  could  to  be  still.  I  was 
making  good  time,  though,  because  I  wanted 
company.  I  had  all  I  needed  of  being  alone  out 
there  in  that  woods,  and  you  can  believe  it,  too. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  something  seemed 
to  grab  my  feet.  I  let  out  a  yell;  I  couldn't 
help  it.  You'd  have  yelled,  too.  As  I  say, 
something  seemed  to  grab  my  feet  and  knock 
them  out  from  under  me,  and  I  came  down 
with  a  smash.  The  paint-pail  went  end  over 
end,  but  I  hung  onto  the  other  things.  I  was 
in  a  regular  panic,  but  for  a  minnit  I  was  too 
stunned  to  get  up.  Then  I  heard  Mark 
Tidd's  voice. 

"S-s-sorry  to  give  you  a  tumble,"  says  he, 
"but  I  had  to  f-find  out." 
124 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Find  out  what?"  I  snapped. 

"If  it  would  w-work." 

"Did  you  do  that?" 

"T-tied  a  piece  of  rope  across  the  path. 
Tied  th-th-three  others  farther  along.  They 
work  f-f-fine." 

"Oh,"  says  I,  "they  work  great.  They 
tickle  me  most  to  death." 

"If  we  were  ch-ch-chased  they'd  come  in 
handy,"  says  he;  and  just  then  we  heard 
Tallow  holler  loud.  "Look  out!"  says  he. 
' '  They're  comin'.  Look  out !" 

They  had  heard  me  fall,  I  guess,  and  the 
yell  I  couldn't  stop. 

"Now  see  what  you  did,"  I  says  to  Mark, 
as  I  groped  for  the  paint.  It  was  his  fault, 
all  right;  he  should  have  known  better;  but 
I  expect  he  got  so  interested  in  his  experiment 
he  forgot  I  might  make  a  racket. 

"  C-can't  be  helped  now,"  says  he.  "  Come 
careful." 

We  ran  as  fast  as  we  could.  Mark  knew 
where  the  ropes  were,  and  so  we  got  over 
them  safely,  and  in  a  couple  of  jerks  of  a 
lamb's  tail  we  were  at  the  canoe.  Mark  had 
it  in  the  water  all  ready,  and  we  stepped  in. 

"Shove  off,"  says  Mark. 
"5 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Just  as  we  left  the  shore  we  heard  a  crash 
and  a  lot  of  yelling  back  at  the  beginning 
of  the  path.  Somebody  had  hit  Mark's  first 
man-trap. 

"L-lucky  I  thought  of  that,"  says  he. 

"If  you  hadn't  thought  of  it  we  never 
would  have  been  discovered,"  says  I.  I  was 
scratched  and  bumped  and  felt  pretty  cross. 

"Paddle,"  says  he. 

The  stream  was  narrow  there,  but  deep 
enough  to  float  a  canoe.  The  current  was 
swift,  but  it  was  so  dark  we  couldn't  see 
much  where  we  were  going.  About  all  we 
had  to  go  by  was  that  the  shore  looked 
blacker  than  where  there  wasn't  any  shore. 
One  good  thing  was  that  there  weren't  any 
stones  or  dead-heads  or  brush-heaps. 

We  had  to  take  chances  or  we  would  have 
gone  along  slow  and  careful,  but  luck  was 
with  us,  I  expect,  and  we  didn't  have  any 
serious  accident.  A  couple  of  times  we  scraped 
the  shore,  and  once  we  grounded  going  around 
a  curve,  but  on  the  whole  we  felt  pretty  well 
satisfied.  We  had  got  away. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  Jiggins  and  Col- 
lins knew  which  way  we'd  gone,  and  would 
be  able  to  find  we  left  in  a  canoe.  If  it 
126 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

hadn't  been  for  Mark's  man-trap  they  would 
have  had  to  guess  at  that,  and,  as  likely  as 
not,  would  have  guessed  wrong.  Anyhow, 
we  had  a  start,  and  it  was  too  dark  for  them 
to  chase  us  along  the  shore.  I  don't  know 
what  happened  to  the  men  in  that  path,  but 
I  expect  they  had  a  couple  more  tumbles 
before  they  came  out  where  we  had  hidden 
the  canoe. 

We  paddled  along  till  daylight,  and  then 
we  kept  on  paddling.  We  figured  we  were 
safe  now,  because  Jiggins  and  Collins  were  left 
three  hours  behind;  and,  besides,  we  didn't 
see  how  they  could  possibly  chase  us.  There 
were  several  things  we  didn't  know,  though. 
It  isn't  safe  to  figure  up  the  score  till  the 
last  man's  out,  and  we  crowed  too  soon. 
Uncle  Hieronymous's  mine  was  worth  too 
much  money  for  these  men  to  give  it  up 
without  trying  pretty  average  hard,  and  I 
will  say  for  them  they  did  their  best. 

''All  we  have  to  do  now,"  says  Mark,  "is 
to  k-keep  on  down-stream  until  we  f-f-find 
your  uncle  and  Ole  and  Jerry.  They're 
s-s-somewhere  along  the  river,  and  we  can't 
miss  'em." 

The  Middle  Branch,  I  guess  I've  said  before, 
127 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

was  nothing  but  a  little  stream.  Sometimes 
it  was  fifteen  feet  wide,  but  very  seldom  any 
wider,  except  once  in  a  great  while  where  the 
current  had  worn  out  a  pool  at  a  sharp  bend — 
a  place  like  the  one  where  we  rescued  Mr. 
Macmillan's  landing-net.  There  was  hardly 
a  place  where  we  could  have  landed,  because 
the  underbrush  grew  right  down  to  the 
water's  edge  so  thick  it  would  have  been 
next  to  impossible  to  get  through  it  without 
cutting  a  path  with  a  hatchet.  Once,  after 
we  had  been  out  about  an  hour,  we  jammed 
into  a  pile  of  brush  and  logs  that  clogged  the 
stream.  It  didn't  do  any  harm,  but  we  had 
to  haul  the  canoe  over  the  top  of  it.  This 
took  us  all  of  twenty  minutes.  We  didn't 
think  anything  of  it  then,  but,  if  only  we  had 
known  it,  twenty  minutes  was  a  lot  to  waste 
just  then. 

Shortly  after  daylight  we  came  out  into 
the  Pdre  Marquette  River.  That  meant  the 
real  start  of  our  voyage. 

"Aha!"  says  Mark.  "The  great  river  the 
Indians  t-t-told  us  of.  I  never  thought  to 
1-1-live  to  see  it." 

"What's  that?"  says  I. 

"I'm  Father  Marquette,"  says  he. 
128 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Shucks!"  says  I.  "He  never  got  way 
inland  as  far  as  this." 

"You  can't  prove  it,"  says  he,  "and,  any- 
how, this  is  the  Mississippi  River,  hain't  it?" 

"To  be  sure,"  says  I,  "to  be  sure." 

"It's  been  a  wonderful  trip,  hain't  it?" 
Mark  asked.  "Canoein'  way  down  the  shore 
of  Lake  Michigan  from  Mackinac?  When 
King  Louis  hears  of  what  we've  d-done  he'll 
be  p-pretty  tickled,  I  bet." 

"Let's  see,"  says  I;  "you're  buried  down 
Ludington  way  somewheres,  ain't  you?" 

"There's  about  a  dozen  places  claims  my 
grave.  Er  " — he  stopped  and  scowled  at  me — 
"I  mean  will  claim  it  when  I'm  dead  and 
buried." 

"How  come  they  to  name  this  river  after 
you,  Father  Marquette?"  I  asked  him. 

"'Cause  I  d-discovered  it,"  says  he. 

There  we  were  getting  mixed  up.  We  were 
pretending  we  were  discovering  the  Missis- 
sippi, and  right  in  the  middle  of  it  we  forgot 
and  talked  about  the  P£re  Marquette.  The 
Pdre  part  of  it  means  "Father,"  you  know. 

The  big  river  was  considerable  wider  than 
the  Middle  Branch — maybe  seventy  feet 
sometimes — and  it  was  swifter  and  deeper. 
129 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Right  where  we  were  was  a  sort  of  shallow, 
but  even  at  the  far  side  it  was  good  and  deep. 
It  was  a  hard  river  to  canoe  on  because  it 
was  so  irregular  about  being  deep.  First  the 
water  would  be  over  your  head,  and  next  it 
would  be  so  shallow  you'd  be  scraping  on 
the  bottom. 

We  paddled  along  until  we  came  to  a  bend 
in  the  river  where  there  was  a  sand-bar  stick- 
ing out  into  the  water  on  the  point  of  the 
bend. 

''There,"  says  Mark;  "1-let's  git  ashore 
for  breakfast.  No  sign  of  h-hostile  Indians." 

"All  right,"  says  I.  "I'm  both  willin'  and 
hungry." 

So  we  went  ashore.  I've  told  you  how  the 
river  curved  and  wriggled.  Folks  tell  me  it 
twists  five  miles  through  the  country  to  make 
one  mile  ahead.  I  don't  know  how  near  right 
this  is,  but  it  didn't  seem  to  us  like  any  ex- 
aggeration when  we  were  floating  down.  Well, 
what  I  meant  to  say  was  that  when  we  were 
on  the  point  we  could  see  up-stream  only 
about  a  thousand  feet,  and  down-stream  not 
so  far  as  that.  It  was  just  like  being  on  the 
shore  of  a  tiny  lake,  except  that  the  current 
kept  swishing  by  so  fast. 
130 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Haul  the  canoe  up  on  the  s-sand,"  says 
Mark,  "  so  the  current  won't  carry  it  off." 

It  was  on  the  lower  side  of  the  point,  and  I 
pulled  it  up  till  its  nose  was  sticking  into  the 
underbrush. 

"Hush!"  says  Mark.    "Look!" 

It  startled  me,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of.  It  was  just  a  big  crane  flopping 
his  wings  and  coming  down  to  the  water 
about  a  hundred  feet  off. 

"G-goin'  fishin',"  Mark  whispered. 

The  crane  lighted  in  the  water  about  to  his 
knees  and  stood  as  quiet  as  a  gate-post,  wait- 
ing for  a  fish  to  swim  by  where  he  could  grab 
him  in  his  long  bill. 

While  we  watched  him  another  crane  came 
settling  down  not  fifty  feet  from  the  first  one 
and  stood  up  as  straight  and  stiff  as  a  soldier. 
He  hardly  got  placed  when  three  more  came 
down  and  got  into  the  water  up-stream  far- 
ther toward  the  bend.  That  made  five. 

"Whee!"  I  whispered  to  Mark,  "I  never 
saw  so  many  together  before." 

"Hush,"  he  says,  and  pointed  up.    There, 

over  the  trees,  came  two  more  cranes  with 

great  wings  extended,  just   sort   of  floating 

toward  us,  and  they  settled  in  the  water,  too. 

131 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Must  be  a  fine  place  to  f-f-fish,"  says 
Mark,  and  at  that  what  should  happen  but 
two  more  cranes  who  picked  out  spots  in  the 
line. 

Before  we  had  done  being  surprised  an- 
other came  rushing  down — he  was  in  a  hurry, 
I  guess;  and  then  another,  who  lit  at  the  far 
end  of  the  line.  It  was  a  pretty  sight,  I  tell 
you.  Eleven  big  cranes,  most  as  tall  as  I 
am,  all  standing  as  pompous  and  stiff  and 
motionless  as  could  be,  just  as  if  they  were  on 
parade. 

"I  wouldn't  have  m-missed  it  for  a  quar- 
ter," says  Mark,  and  I  felt  that  way  too. 

We  forgot  about  breakfast,  it  was  so  in- 
teresting to  watch  them.  Every  now  and 
then  one  of  them  would  dart  his  head  down 
quick  as  lightning,  there  would  be  a  splash 
in  the  water,  and  sometimes  you  could  see 
the  big  bird  gulping  down  a  little  fish.  This 
kept  up  for  maybe  twenty  minutes. 

"L-l-look  at  the  last  one,"  says  Mark,  all 
of  a  sudden. 

The  bird  at  the  far  end  of  the  line  didn't 
act  satisfied  with  things — he  sort  of  fidgeted. 
Then  all  at  once  he  spread  his  wings  and  be- 
gan slowly  flapping  them  till  their  tips  touched 
132 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

the  river.  Up  he  rose,  acting  for  all  the  world 
like  a  startled  girl.  The  next  crane  caught  the 
scare,  and  up  he  went. 

"Whew!"  Mark  whistled.  "Somebody 
comin'.  Haul  the  boat  out  of  sight.  Quick!" 

We  jumped  for  the  canoe  and  dragged  it 
into  the  underbrush  and  lay  down  on  our 
stomachs  beside  it. 

"Hostile  Indians,"  says  Mark. 

I  was  pretty  sure  in  my  mind  there  were 
no  more  hostile  Indians  in  Michigan,  but, 
after  all,  you  can  never  tell.  It  was  wild 
enough  along  there  to  suit  anybody,  and 
there  might  have  been  a  tribe  of  red  men  that 
somehow  had  got  themselves  overlooked. 
So  I  made  no  bones  about  hiding.  Mark 
hadn't  meant  real  Indians,  though.  He  was 
still  being  Father  Marquette  on  the  Missis- 
sippi. 

By  the  time  we  were  well  hid  the  last  crane 
up  and  flapped  into  the  air,  and  then  around 
the  bend  above  us  poked  the  blunt  end  of 
a  boat — a  sort  of  flatboat — and  in  the  front 
of  it  was  nobody  in  the  world  but  Jiggins. 
Mark  pinched  my  leg.  Of  course  Collins  was 
there,  too,  and  they  were  paddling  for  all 
that  was  in  them.  Afterward  we  found  out 
133 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

that  was  a  flatboat  built  special  by  Larsen, 
where  Collins  and  Jiggins  were  staying,  for 
the  very  purpose  of  going  down  the  river. 

You  can  bet  we  laid  pretty  still.  It  seemed 
like  it  took  that  boat  an  hour  to  get  abreast 
of  the  point.  Both  Jiggins  and  Collins  were 
keeping  their  eyes  straight  ahead  of  them, 
though,  and  there  wasn't  a  bit  of  danger  to 
us.  They  simply  went  sweeping  by  as  fast 
as  they  could  force  their  boat,  thinking  they 
were  chasing  us.  It  almost  made  me  laugh. 
In  another  few  minutes  they  went  out  of 
sight  around  the  next  bend,  and  I  was  for 
jumping  out  of  concealment,  but  Mark  held 
me  down. 

"Wait,"  says  he,  "till  we're  s-s-sure." 

So  we  waited  maybe  five  minutes.  Then 
Mark  decided  it  would  be  all  right,  so  we  got 
up  and  hauled  our  canoe  out. 

"Now  what?"  says  I. 

"I  dun 'no',"  says  he,  shaking  his  head. 
"G-guess  I  better  think  it  over  some." 

So  he  sat  down  in  the  sand,  with  his  fat  legs 
sticking  out  ahead  of  him,  and  tugged  away 
at  his  round  cheek  till  it  looked  like  he  would 
pinch  a  hole  in  it.  First  he'd  shut  his  little 
twinkHng  eyes,  and  then  he'd  open  them  again. 
134 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Well,"  says  I,  after  my  patience  was  about 
worn  out,  "what  about  it?" 

"They  won't  n-never  suspect  we're  behind 
'em,"  says  he. 

"No,"  says  I,  "but  what  about  their  find- 
in'  Uncle  Hieronymous?  They  may  git  to 
him  any  minnit.  We  don't  know  but  he's 
only  a  mile  down." 

"He's  more'n  that,"  says  Mark. 

"How  d'you  know?"  says  I. 

"Because,"  says  he,  "they  couldn't  ever  get 
a  big  scow  with  a  derrick  on  it  up  h-h-here." 
He  almost  strangled  getting  out  that  last  word, 
he  stuttered  so  hard. 

He  stopped  a  minnit  to  get  his  breath,  then 
he  says,  "We'll  just  keep  stringin*  along 
b-behind  them.  Maybe  we'll  f-find  a  good 
chance  to  s-sneak  by  after  a  while.  There 
hain't  n-nothin'  else  we  can  do,"  says  he,  with 
a  sort  of  dissatisfied  grin  like  a  fellow  grins 
when  he  has  to  take  .the  best  he  can  get. 

" Well,"  says  I,  "we  better  git  some  break- 
fast, then." 

"You  bet,"  says  Mark;  and  his  voice 
sounded  real  enthusiastic. 


CHAPTER  X 

"  T  DUN'NO',"  says  Mark  Tidd,  while  we 

1  were  building  a  fire  and  getting  break- 
fast, "whether  it's  m-more  ^dangerous  to  be 
ahead  or  b-b-behind  the  enemy." 

"Why?"  I  asked,  for  it  looked  to  me  like 
we  were  a  lot  less  likely  to  be  caught  when 
we  were  behind. 

"Well,"  says  he,  "if  we're  ahead  we  can 
always  t-try  to  escape  by  p-paddlin',  but  if 
we're  behind  and  run  on  to  'em  sudden,  what 
can  we  do?  We  can't  .paddle  up-stream 
against  this  c-current,  can  we?" 

"We'll  have  to  go  perty  careful  and  keep 
our  eyes  open,"  I  says. 

We  had  some  coffee  and  a  little  bacon. 
Mark  allowed  he  felt  a  lot  better  when  it  was 
down,  and  I'll  admit  I  wasn't  half  as  worried. 
Mark  says  eatin'  is  one  of  the  most  important 
things  there  is. 

"Why,"  says  he,  "the  Emperor  Napoleon 
told  his  folks  an  army  travels  on  its  stomach. 
136 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

What  he  meant  was  an  army  of  h-h-hungry 
men  wasn't  any  good  to  him  at  all." 

We  washed  up  our  coffee-pot  and  frying- 
pan  and  packed  things  away  in  the  canoe. 
Then  we  launched  her  and  started  out  to 
follow  Collins  and  Jiggins  down  the  river. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  Mark  and  his  games  it 
wouldn't  have  been  very  exciting,  but  right 
off  he  started  to  be  Father  Marquette  again, 
and  I  was  Louis  Joliet,  a  fur-trader.  As  near 
as  I  could  get  at  it,  Mark  was  to  preach 
to  the  Indians  and  convert  them  while  I  was 
swapping  two-cent  beads  for  ten-dollar  pelts. 

"The  f-farther  we  go,"  says  Mark,  "the 
wilder  and  savager  the  natives  get.  A  couple 
of  days  from  now  I  b-bet  we  run  into  can- 
nibals 1-like  those  that  passed  in  the  boat." 

Collins  and  Jiggins  had  got  promoted  to 
cannibals  now. 

We  went  cautious,  I  can  promise  you.  Be- 
tween being  honestly  worried  about  the  men 
ahead  of  us  and  being  make-believe  afraid 
of  Indians  we  came  pretty  close  to  having 
our  hands  full.  Every  time  we  came  to  a 
curve  we  had  to  go  slow  and  back  water  so 
as  not  to  come  swinging  around  on  Jiggins 
&  Co.  unexpected,  and  once  or  twice  when 
137 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

the  current  was  strong  we  did  sweep  around 
kerflip.  As  luck  had  it,  they  weren't  there 
waiting  for  us,  but  it  would  have  been  just 
the  same  if  they  had. 

The  current  was  swift  all  the  time,  but 
sometimes  it  was  swifter  than  others.  When- 
ever the  stream  got  narrower  it  crowded  the 
water  together  so  it  seemed  to  shoot  through ; 
and  then  it  went  so  smooth  and  purring-like 
it  almost  frightened  you.  It  acted  strong. 
It  was  lucky  we  knew  a  little  about  a  canoe, 
or  we  would  have  tipped  over  or  smashed 
ashore  fifty  times.  Even  as  it  was  we  brushed 
a  tree  that  had  toppled  into  the  water  and 
grazed  a  stump  that  came  just  to  the  surface. 
If  we'd  hit  that  square  Mark  would  have 
had  some  use  for  his  canvas  and  paint. 

It  began  to  get  hot  after  a  while,  and  we 
began  to  get  tired.  There  isn't  anything  so 
tiresome  to  your  back  as  riding  in  a  canoe 
when  you  aren't  used  to  it.  I  wished  Mark 
would  say  something  about  taking  a  rest,  but 
he  didn't.  I  suppose  he  was  wishing  I  would. 
Folks  get  into  lots  of  trouble,  off  and  on,  by 
being  afraid  to  be  the  first  to  give  in.  All 
the  same,  I  wasn't  going  to  admit  I  couldn't 
stand  as  much  as  he  could. 
1,8 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Once  he  saw  a  sort  of  dilapidated  shanty 
back  a  ways  from  the  river,  and  there  was  a 
man  standing  in  front  of  it.  Mark  said  to 
go  ashore  and  question  him. 

"He's  a  p-peaceful  Indian,"  says  Mark. 
"I  can  tell  by  his  p-paint." 

We  ran  the  canoe  to  shore  and  got  out. 
The  man  walked  toward  us,  and  he  was 
funny-looking  as  all-git-out.  With  one  side 
of  his  face  he  was  sort  of  scowling,  and  with 
the  other  side  he  came  pretty  close  to  grinning 
good-natured. 

"Howdy-do,"  says  Mark;  and  the  man 
nodded  with  a  jerk. 

"F-f-fme  day,"  says  Mark. 

"If  you  like  it  hot,"  says  the  man. 

"Live  here?"  asked  Mark,  polite  as  could 
be. 

The  man  scowled  harder  with  the  scowling 
side,  and  kind  of  wrinkled  up  the  good- 
natured  side  of  his  face.  Then  he  gave  the 
end  of  his  nose  a  little  twist  like  he  wanted 
to  make  sure  it  wouldn't  fly  off  unbeknownst 
to  him  while  his  mind  was  taken  up  with 
other  things.  Then  he  cleared  his  throat  and 
coughed  and  scratched  his  head. 

"Wa-al,"  says  he,  "I  sleep  here,  and  I 
10  139 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

eat  here.  Some  folks  that  hain't  afraid  of 
stretchin'  the  truth  might  go  so  far's  to  say 
I  live  here.  Personally  it  don't  look  to  me  like 
I  done  a  great  amount  of  livin',  so  to  speak." 

"F-f-farm?"  asked  Mark. 

"Don't  calculate  to,"  says  the  man. 

"Well,"  says  Mark,  sort  of  puzzled,  "what 
do  you  do?" 

"Right  now,  young  feller,  about  all  I  do 
is  hope.  'Tain't  a  payin'  business,  though 
comfortin'.  I  calc'late  to  work  a  mite  and 
fish  a  mite  and  loaf  consid'able.  Doorin'  the 
fall  and  winter  I  hunt  some  and  trap  and 
read  up  in  the  papers  what  happens  durin' 
the  summer.  Also" — he  stopped  and  twisted 
his  nose  again — "also  I  git  so  energetic-like 
that  I've  been  knowed  to  shove  a  fish-shanty 
on  to  the  ice  and  spear." 

"S-s-see  many  folks  goin'  down  the  river?" 
asked  Mark. 

"  'Tain't  what  you'd  call  crowded.  No. 
Couldn't  go  so  far's  to  say  people  was  jostlin' 
one  another." 

"Did  you  happen  to  see  a  b-b-boat  with 
two  men  go  past  this  mornin'?" 

"Fat  man  that  was  hummin'  and  a  thin 
man  that  was  sweatin'?" 
140 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

"Yes,"  says  Mark. 

"Sort  of  in  a  hurry?" 

"They  would  'a'  b-been,"  says  Mark. 

"Lemme  think,"  says  the  man.  "Now, 
did  I  see  them  men  or  did  I  jest  imagine  I 
seen  'em?  If  my  dawg  'd  'a'  been  here  he'd 
'a*  barked  at  anybody  that  went  by.  But 
he  didn't  bark.  That  hain't  anythin'  to  go 
by,  though,  'cause  he  run  off  last  spring."  He 
stopped  again  and  made  like  he  was  studying 
hard. 

"Supposin*  they'd  stopped  and  asked  me 
had  I  seen  a  couple  of  boys,  one  fat  and  one 
lean?  Would  that  'a'  been  them?" 

"I  guess  it  would,"  says  Mark;  and  you 
could  see  he  was  tickled  to  death  with  the  man. 

"Then,"  says  he,  "there  can't  be  no  doubt 
I  seen  'em." 

"How  1-long  ago?"  asked  Mark. 

"A  perty  good-sized  nap,"  says  he. 

Mark  didn't  understand  any  more  than  I 
did.  "What's  that?"  he  cried. 

"Just  my  way  of  tellin*  time,"  says  the 
man.  "Day's  divided  into  naps.  I  snooze 
and  wake  and  snooze  and  wake.  I  know  how 
long  ago  a  thing  happened  by  countin*  back 
how  many  times  I  been  asleep." 
141 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"How  1-long  is  a  perty  good-sized  nap?" 

"  More'n  twice  as  long  as  a  skimpy  nap." 

That  was  the  best  we  could  get  out  of  him, 
though  Mark  tried  him  a  couple  of  times 
more. 

"Did  they  stop  and  ask  you  about  any- 
thing?" Mark  asked. 

"Asked  me  about  two  boys." 

"What  did  you  t-t-tell  'em?" 

"Young  feller,"  says  the  man,  scowling 
like  anything  with  his  left  eyebrow,  "I 
judged  it  best  not  to  state  anythin'  definite. 
When  folks  is  huntin'  for  folks  it  may  be 
friendly  and  it  may  be  unfriendly.  You 
might  be  doin'  a  favor,  or  you  might  not,  as 
the  case  may  be.  Them  men  looked  perty 
anxious,  so,  thinks  I,  this  here  is  a  time  for 
thinkin'  and  meditation.  Likewise  it's  a 
time  for  bein'  sure  you  don't  do  nothin' 
about  somethin'  you  don't  know  nothin' 
about.  So  I  was  what  the  newspapers  calls 
non-committal.  Big  word,  eh?  I've  remem- 
bered her  nigh  two  years,  and  hain't  never 
had  no  use  for  her  before.  Pays  to  save  them 
words,  though.  Time  always  comes  for  'em." 

"What  did  you  say  to  them?" 

"Says  I,  'Gentlemen  and  strangers,  I 
142 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

hain't  been  app'inted  watchman  of  this  here 
river,  though  I  do  notice  it  consid'able.  But 
I  got  my  weaknesses,  gentlemen,  and  one  of 
'em  is  for  sleep.  I  jest  woke  up,  so  to  speak. 
Before  I  done  so  there  might  'a'  been  a  Bar- 
num's  Circus  parade  a-floatin'  down,  though 
it  would  'a'  been  the  first  time  sich  a  thing's 
happened  in  ten  year.'  That's  all  I  said  to 
'em,  young  fellers,  and  they  went  away  in 
more  of  a  hurry  than  ever." 

"If  you  w-w-wouldn't  tell  them  anything," 
says  Mark,  suspicious-like,  "what  makes  you 


The  man  didn't  say  a  thing  for  a  minnit, 
and  his  face  got  to  look  the  same  on  both 
sides.  It  was  a  kind  of  wistful  look,  I  guess. 
"When  it's  boys,"  he  says,  very  slow,  "all 
rules  don't  work.  Boys  is  —  I  like  boys," 
says  he,  and  then  began  again  to  scowl  with 
one  side  and  look  like  he  didn't  care  with  the 
other.  What  he  said  and  the  way  he  said  it 
made  you  pretty  sorry  for  him,  and  you 
didn't  know  why. 

We  said  "Thank  you"  to  him  and  got  back 

into  our  canoe.    He  stood  on  the  bank,  look- 

ing after  us  till  we  went  around  the  bend, 

and  for  some  reason  or  other  I  couldn't  get 

143 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

him  out  of  my  mind  for  a  long  time.  I 
haven't  got  him  out  yet.  He  was  a  nice  man, 
and  he  was  lonesome  for  boys.  It  was  too 
bad  he  didn't  have  any  of  his  own. 

We  kept  paddling  along,  with  our  eyes 
open  sharp.  It  was  worth  while  to  keep 
your  eyes  open  on  the  river  because  there  was 
so  much  to  see  —  birds,  and  thousands  of 
turtles  sleeping  on  stones  and  logs,  and  some- 
times a  muskrat.  Besides,  there  were  fish 
jumping  every  little  while,  and  sounds  back 
among  the  trees  and  underbrush  that  were 
made  by  little  animals  you  looked  for  but 
couldn't  see  most  of  the  while.  We  did  see 
a  few  squirrels,  and  once  a  little  bit  of  a  chip- 
munk. He  just  sat  up  on  his  haunches  and 
looked  at  us,  not  scairt  a  bit  till  I  yelled 
"Boo!"  at  him.  Then  you  should  have  seen 
him  flick  away.  My,  but  he  was  quick !  One 
second  he  was  there  and  the  next  he  was  gone. 

I  saw  Mark  take  out  his  watch  and  look 
at  it,  and  knew  what  it  meant,  all  right.  He 
was  just  seeing  if  his  stomach  told  the  truth 
about  its  being  dinner-time. 

"Well?"  says  I. 

He  twisted  his  big  round  head  on  his  fat 
neck  and  grinned. 

144 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"N-not  for  a  half  an  hour,"  says  he. 

"I  don't  remember  saying  another  word. 
I  was  too  hungry  to  do  anything  but  think 
about  eating,  and  I'll  bet  Mark  was  hun- 
grier than  I  was.  When  you're  nearly  starved 
you  don't  want  to  talk,  you  just  want  to  eat, 
and  every  minute  between  you  and  food 
seems  like  it  stretched  from  noon  till  mid- 
night. 

Well,  sir,  I  guess  being  so  hungry  made  us 
a  little  careless.  We  were  just  coming  to  a 
sharp  bend,  and  for  the  first  time  we  forgot  to 
slow  up  and  look  ahead.  We  just  pelted 
along  as  though  there  wasn't  a  thing  in  the 
world  to  be  afraid  of.  I  was  looking  off  to 
the  left  when  I  heard  Mark  give  a  startled 
grunt  and  saw  him  dig  his  paddle  into  the 
water  and  push  the  nose  of  the  canoe  toward 
shore.  I  looked.  There,  up  to  their  waists 
in  the  river,  were  Jiggins  and  Collins,  working 
over  their  flatboat  that  had  struck  something 
and  tipped  over.  I  dug  my  paddle  in,  too. 

It  was  lucky  for  us  they  were  busy  and  had 
their  backs  our  way,  for  we  weren't  more  than 
fifty  feet  from  them.  The  splash  and  rush 
of  the  current  kept  the  sound  of  our  paddles 
from  them,  and  we  managed  to  get  to  shore 
us 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

and  hide  just  on  our  side  of  the  point.  We 
didn't  pull  the  canoe  up;  we  lifted  it.  Lift- 
ing was  quieter.  Then  we  sat  down,  plump! 
It  took  the  wind  right  out  of  our  sails. 

"Whew,"  I  says,  "but  that  was  a  narrow 
one!" 

He  just  shook  his  head  and  panted.  It 
was  hot,  and  we  moved  pretty  sudden,  I  can 
tell  you. 

"We're  all  r-r-right  here,"  says  he,  "if 
we  keep  quiet  and  they  don't  go  p-p-prowlin' 
around.  They  think  we're  below  them." 

"I'd  feel  more  comfortable  farther  away," 
I  says;  but  I  could  see  it  wouldn't  be  safe 
to  move.  "Wonder  how  they're  gittin' 
along?" 

We  craned  our  necks  to  see,  but  it  wasn't 
any  use.  There  was  a  hummock  in  the  way, 
and  considerable  high  grass  and  bushes. 

"And  we  can't  eat,"  I  says.  "We  dassent 
make  a  fire." 

That  was  the  worst  of  it. 

Mark  crawled  down  to  the  canoe,  though, 
and  came  back  with  a  loaf  of  bread  and  some 
butter.  The  butter  was  soft  and  squashy, 
but  we  didn't  object  to  that.  We  wouldn't 
have  objected  to  anything  we  could  chew  and 
146 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

swallow.  A  meal  of  bread  and  butter  don't 
sound  like  you'd  be  very  interested  in  it,  but, 
all  the  same,  you'd  be  mistaken  if  you  thought 
we  weren't.  We  enjoyed  it.  Between  us  we  ate 
that  whole  loaf  and  looked  around  for  crumbs. 

I  said  before  that  a  fellow  is  braver  when 
his  stomach's  full  than  when  he's  had  to 
tighten  his  belt.  I  felt  bolder  a  lot,  and  more 
curious  to  know  what  Collins  and  Jiggins 
were  up  to. 

"I'm  goin'  to  see  if  I  can't  git  a  squint  at 
'em,"  says  I. 

"B-better  stay  still,"  says  Mark. 

11 1  got  to  try  it,"  I  says,  and  started  crawl- 
ing on  my  stomach  across  the  point  and 
through  the  underbrush.  I  went  slow  and  cau- 
tious, and  I  don't  believe  a  wild  Indian  could 
have  done  a  great  deal  better  when  it  came 
to  making  noise.  I  didn't  make  any.  I 
didn't  know  I  could  move  so  quiet,  and  it 
made  me  sort  of  proud  of  myself.  I  said  to 
myself  I'd  show  the  other  fellows  what  a  still 
one  I  could  be  in  the  woods,  and  did  consider- 
able bragging  to  myself.  And  then  my  heart 
came  up  into  my  mouth  so  sudden  I  almost 
bit  it. 

I  poked  my  head  over  the  hummock,  which 
147 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

was  maybe  twenty-five  feet  from  where  I 
left  Mark,  and  there,  not  six  feet  away, 
were  Collins  and  Jiggins  wringing  out  their 
clothes.  Whew!  I  just  wilted  down  and 
tried  not  to  breathe. 

But  nothing  happened,  so  I  screwed  up 
my  courage  to  lift  my  head  again.  They 
were  still  busy,  and  they  didn't  look  as  though 
they  would  be  pleasant  company.  Both  of 
them  looked  mad  enough  to  bite  themselves, 
and  they  weren't  saying  a  word.  It  was 
funny,  and  I  had  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from 
snickering.  My!  how  I  did  wish  Mark  could 
see  them ! 

There  was  Jiggins,  fat  as  anything,  with 
sweat  trickling  down  his  face  and  river-water 
running  down  his  legs.  He  must  have  gone 
in  head  first,  for  his  hair  was  wet  and  plastery, 
the  way  a  fellow's  is  when  he  takes  a  dive. 
Collins  wasn't  fat.  He  wasn't  so  awful  lean, 
either,  but  the  general  look  of  discomfort  he 
wore  from  head  to  foot  was  even  funnier 
than  Jiggins.  They  were  both  turning  and 
twisting  their  pants,  trying  to  squeeze  all  the 
water  out  of  them.  I  could  imagine  how 
cold  and  clammy  and  nasty  those  clothes  were 
going  to  feel  when  they  put  them  on  again. 
148 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Collins  looked  at  Jiggins  and  scowled,  and 
Jiggins  scowled  back.  Then  all  of  a  sudden 
Collins  began  to  grin  and  then  to  laugh, 
and  Jiggins  he  began  to  laugh,  and  both  of 
them  simply  laid  down  on  the  ground  and 
rolled  and  yelled. 

"I  wish  you  could  see  yourself,"  Collins 
says,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 

"Urn,"  says  Jiggins.  "See  myself?  Oh-ho, 
neighbor,  I  hain't  getting  cheated,  to  speak 
of.  You're  some  sight  yourself."  And  then 
he  began  to  sing  that  silly  tune  of  his,  "Tum- 
diddle-dum-dum .  Tee-dee-diddle-dee-dee . ' ' 

"It's  a  risky  and  adventurous  life,"  says 
Collins. 

"That  fat  boy  would  have  enjoyed  this," 
says  Jiggins,  with  a  grin.  "He'd  have  ap- 
preciated it.  You  bet.  This  gives  'em  a 
good  start,  eh?  Good  big  start." 

"Don't  believe  they'd  hurry  much,"  says 
Collins.  "They  didn't  know  we  had  a  boat. 
They'll  take  it  easy,  and  if  I  know  anything 
about  kids  they'll  see  things  to  stop  and  look 
at." 

"If  anything  delays  the  fat  kid,"  Jiggins 
says,  emphatic,  "it  '11  be  eatin'.  He'll  have 
to  eat." 

149 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"You  ought  to  know,"  says  Collins,  with 
a  look  at  the  size  of  Jiggins. 

"Wonder  how  long  they're  going  to  keep 
to  the  river?"  Jiggins  says,  shaking  his  head. 
"Must  know  where  they're  going,  eh?  They 
acted  like  it  was  all  planned  out." 

"All  we  can  do  is  follow  'em." 

"I'd  like  to  meet  somebody  to  inquire  of. 
We've  got  to  keep  track  of  'em.  Maybe 
somebody'd  know  where  Mr.  Hieronymous 
Alphabet  Bell  is,  too.  Then  we  could  take 
a  short  cut  to  him." 

"All  I  can  see  to  do  is  just  keep  ahead. 
Lucky  the  boat  wasn't  busted." 

They  quit  talking  and  put  on  their  soggy 
clothes.  Their  boat  was  pulled  up  on  the 
shore,  and  they  got  in  it  again  and  pushed  off. 

"Good-by,  gentlemen,"  says  I  to  myself, 
and  felt  like  standing  up  to  wave  my  hand 
after  them. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  I  got  up  and 
went  back  to  Mark.  He  wanted  to  know 
what  I  saw,  and  I  told  him.  It  made  him 
mad  to  think  he'd  missed  seeing  it. 

"Anyhow,"  says,  I  to  comfort  him,  "we 
can  make  a  cup  of  coffee  if  you  want  to." 

He  wanted  to. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WE  needed  a  good  rest,  so  we  took  one. 
I  couldn't  get  to  sleep,  but  Mark  found 
no  trouble  about  it  at  all.  He  can  always  eat 
and  sleep.  We  had  been  up  a  long  time. 
It  seemed  days  ago  we  escaped  through  the 
tunnel  and  began  the  trip  down  the  Pere 
Marquette,  but  it  was  that  same  morning, 
and  now  it  was  just  past  noon.  While  Mark 
slept  I  sat  around  until  I  was  tired  of  doing 
nothing,  and  then  I  got  that  Kidnapped  book 
out  of  the  canoe  and  read  it.  That  made  the 
time  pass  pretty  quickly. 

Mark  didn't  wake  up  till  nearly  three 
o'clock.  As  soon  as  he'd  stretched  and  rubbed 
his  little  eyes  open  we  launched  our  canoe 
and  started  again. 

I've  told  you  how  the  P£re  Marquette 
River  turned  and  wriggled  and  twisted.  It 
wasted  an  awful  lot  of  time  getting  to  Lake 
Michigan,  and  went  about  five  times  as  far 
as  there  was  any  need  of.  Some  of  the  water 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

was  more  enterprising,  though.  It  wasn't 
all  satisfied  to  wander  around  aimless-like. 
This  ambitious  part  of  the  water  was  always 
taking  short  cuts.  How  can  a  river  short- 
cut? Easy — just  as  easy  as  falling  off  a  log. 
When  the  'main  part  of  the  river  would  go 
sweeping  off  in  a  big  loop  the  part  that  was 
in  a  hurry  would  find  a  low  spot  and  cut 
right  across  the  base  of  the  loop.  It  would 
be  just  as  if  you  were  making  a  letter  "U" 
with  your  pencil  and,  when  it  was  done,  drew 
a  line  across  the  opening  at  the  top  of  it,  con- 
necting the  two  ends.  The  folks  in  that  coun- 
try call  these  short  cuts  cut-offs. 

A  cut-off  usually  is  narrow,  sometimes  not 
more  than  six  feet  wide,  and  hardly  ever 
more  than  ten.  And  how  the  current  in  one 
of  them  does  pelt  along !  It  goes  about  twice 
as  fast  as  in  the  river,  and  it  isn't  going  slow 
in  the  river,  you'd  better  know.  We  came  to 
one  of  them  about  five  o'clock  that  afternoon. 
Quite  a  while  before  we  got  to  it  you  could 
hear  the  water  in  it  rushing  and  gurgling. 

"Somethin'  ahead,"  I  says.  ''Wonder  if 
it's  a  rapids." 

"S-sounds  more  like  pourin'  water  down 
a  spout,"  says  Mark. 

152 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

We  went  slow  so  as  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
We  couldn't  see  anything  that  looked  dan- 
gerous or  exciting;  in  fact,  we  couldn't  see 
anything  at  all  to  make  the  sound.  But  in 
a  couple  of  minnits  we  came  opposite  a  cut 
in  the  bank  and  could  see  an  eddy  turning 
toward  it.  We  edged  over.  The  water  was 
sweeping  through  just  like  it  was  being  poured 
out  of  a  pitcher.  It  wasn't  a  fall,  but  it  was 
a  slant.  The  water  was  running  down-hill, 
all  right. 

"Wonder  where  it  goes?"  I  asked. 

"D-dun'no',"  says  Mark.  "Looks  like  it 
might  be  f-f-fun.  Let's  slide  down  it." 

That  was  our  first  acquaintance  with  cut- 
offs. 

We  turned  in  the  canoe,  and  all  of  a  sud- 
den the  water  grabbed  it  and  shot  it  ahead. 
We  weren't  expecting  it,  and  before  we  knew 
it  we  were  twisted  almost  around  and  nearly 
banged  against  the  bank.  We  dug  our  pad- 
dles in,  though,  and  straightened  her  up. 
After  that  all  we  had  to  do  was  hold  her 
straight — the  current  did  the  rest.  It  was 
like  coasting. 

Don't  think  we  weren't  kept  busy,  though. 
There  were  twists  and  turns  and  points  and 
153 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

stones  and  brush-piles.  All  of  these  kept 
getting  in  the  way,  and  it  wasn't  so  easy  as 
you  may  think  to  keep  away  from  them. 

After  we'd  been  shooting  along  for  half  an 
hour  we  whirled  around  a  bend,  and  there 
the  stream  split  in  two.  I  looked  one  way, 
and  there,  across  the  water,  lay  a  big  tree  that 
had  fallen.  As  quick  as  I  could  I  swung  the 
other  way,  and,  ker smash!  we  crashed  against 
a  sharp  snag.  You  could  hear  it  rip  the  side 
of  the  canoe.  We  hung  there  a  minnit  and 
then  swung  toward  shore,  where  the  current 
got  a  good  push  at  the  canoe  and  came  pretty 
near  to  upsetting  it.  I  jumped  out  in  the 
water,  which  was  only  above  my  knees,  and 
hung  on.  Mark  jumped,  too,  but  he  hit  a 
deeper  spot  and  got  in  pretty  nearly  to  his 
shoulders.  It  was  a  tussle  for  a  little  while, 
but  at  last  we  got  the  canoe  swung  around 
so  she  was  all  right,  except  for  the  hole  in  her 
side.  Then  we  waded  ashore. 

The  place  where  we  landed  was  on  a  sharp 
point  where  the  cut-off  divided.  The  stream 
pelted  down  on  either  side  of  us,  and  disap- 
peared in  the  woods.  The  ground  we  stood 
on  was  black,  oozy  marsh.  As  soon  as  you 
picked  up  a  foot  your  track  filled  with  water. 
154 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"N-nice  pickle,"  says  Mark. 

"Fine,"  says  I. 

"Haul  her  ashore,"  says  he;  and  we  got  a 
grip  on  the  canoe  and  dragged  it  up  beside  us. 

"L-lucky  I  brought  that  p-paint  and  can- 
vas," says  he,  all  puffed  up  about  himself. 
Mark  liked  to  have  folks  appreciate  what  he 
did,  I  can  tell  you. 

"Been  luckier,"  I  says,  "if  we  hadn't  come 
foolin'  down  this  offshoot.  We'd  'a'  done 
better  to  stick  to  the  river." 

"No  use  f-fussin'  about  it  now.  We're 
here!" 

That  was  just  like  Mark,  too.  He  never 
worried  about  what  might  have  happened, 
but  always  got  to  work  fixing  up  what  had 
happened. 

We  took  everything  out  of  the  canoe  and 
turned  the  canoe  bottom  side  up.  From 
there  on  I  wasn't  much  good.  Mark  was  the 
fellow  that  fixed  it.  He  pounded  and  whittled 
and  fussed  around  till  it  began  to  get  dark. 

"Wish  we'd  b-brought  a  lantern,"  says  he. 

"So  do  I,"  says  I.  "I  hain't  in  love  with 
campin'  out  here  with  no  light." 

"I  mean  to  f-f-fix  the  canoe." 

"Can't   finish   it   to-night   now,"    I   says. 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Better  leave  it  and  come  look  for  a  place  to 
camp.  It  don't  look  to  me  as  if  there  was 
anything  but  swamp  for  miles." 

"We'll  have  to  m-m-make  a  place  to  camp," 
says  he. 

"How?"  I  asked  him.    "Up  in  a  tree?" 

"We  might  do  that,"  says  he,  "if  it  was 
n-necessary,  but  it  ain't." 

"What,  then?" 

"I  dun'no'  yet.    Lemme  think." 

He  leaned  up  against  a  big  tree  and  began 
tugging  at  his  puffy  cheek.  He  always  does 
that  when  he's  studying.  If  he  runs  onto 
something  harder  than  usual  he  whittles. 
You  can  make  up  your  mind,  when  you  see 
him  whittling,  that  pretty  soon  you'll  hear 
an  idea  that's  an  idea.  This  time  he  didn't 
seem  to  think  it  was  necessary  to  whittle. 

I  thought  of  a  bed  Mark  made  once  before 
by  cutting  four  forked  stakes  and  laying  poles 
across  them,  and  then  cross-pieces,  but  here 
the  ground  was  so  soggy  and  oozy  we  would 
have  had  to  drive  telegraph-poles  to  get  deep 
enough  to  hold.  If  we  made  stake -beds 
they'd  be  sunk  down  so  we  laid  in  the  mud 
in  half  an  hour. 

All  the  time  we  were  smacking  mosquitoes. 
156 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

As  soon  as  we  came  ashore  it  looked  as  if  they 
came  swarming  down  to  chase  us  away.  If 
there  had  been  any  way  for  us  to  go  they 
would  have  done  it,  too.  We  didn't  want 
to  stay.  I  can't  think  of  any  place  we 
wouldn't  rather  have  been. 

"I  g-g-got  it,"  says  Mark  at  last.  "Come 
on  b-b-back  where  the  trees  are  thicker." 

We  wallowed  back  into  the  woods,  feet  wet, 
sweat  running  off  from  us  in  streams,  and 
mosquito-bites  from  head  to  foot.  I  never 
imagined  anybody  could  be  so  uncomfort- 
able. 

Mark  had  the  ax.  After  a  while  he  stopped 
and  began  measuring  between  trees.  I  looked 
to  see  if  I  could  study  out  his  scheme,  but  I 
couldn't.  There  were  four  trees  standing 
in  a  sort  of  square  about  ten  feet  apart.  I 
could  see  how  we  could  use  them  for  the  posts 
of  a  bed  if  they  were  cut  down,  but  we  didn't 
have  any  nails  to  fasten  poles  to  them,  or 
any  other  way  of  doing  it  that  I  could  see. 

Mark  measured  carefully  between  two  of 
the  trees  and  then  went  to  cut  down  a  small 
tree  about  six  inches  thick.  I  helped  at  that. 
We  carried  it  back  to  the  four  big  trees  and 
put  it  down.  Then  Mark  picked  up  the  ax 
157 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

and  began  chopping  into  one  of  the  big  trees 
about  three  feet  from  the  ground. 

"It  11  take  all  night  to  chop  that  tree 
down,"  I  says. 

He  didn't  answer  anything,  but  kept  right 
on  chopping.  Pretty  soon  he  had  a  notch 
cut  out  about  three  inches  deep.  The  bot- 
tom edge  of  the  notch  was  parallel  with  the 
ground.  When  he  had  that  finished  he 
chopped  another  notch  in  the  opposite  tree. 

"There,"  says  he,  "that's  a  b-b-begin- 
ning." 

I  didn't  say  anything,  because  I  couldn't 
guess  what  he  was  up  to,  and  it  isn't  safe  to 
make  fun  of  one  of  his  schemes  till  you're 
pretty  sure  it  isn't  going  to  work. 

The  next  thing  he  did  was  to  cut  a  chunk 
off  the  little  tree  just  long  enough  to  reach 
from  the  inside  edge  of  the  notch  in  one  tree 
to  the  inside  edge  of  the  notch  in  the  other. 
It  was  a  tight  fit,  and  he  had  to  pound  to 
make  it  go  in.  But  it  did  go.  There,  about 
three  feet  above  the  ground,  was  a  six-inch- 
thick  log  running  from  one  tree  to  the  other, 
and  up  good  and  solid. 

"S-see  now?"  Mark  asked. 

I  did  see.    He  gave  me  the  ax,  and  I  cut 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

notches  in  the  other  two  trees,  and  in  them  we 
fitted  another  small  log.  The  rest  was  easy. 
Between  the  two  we  laid  a  lot  of  poles,  and 
on  top  of  the  poles  we  piled  boughs  and 
leaves  until  we  had  a  good,  soft  bed.  When 
that  was  done  we  had  a  place  to  sleep,  but  we 
didn't  have  anything  to  keep  away  the  mos- 
quitoes. Neither  had  we  had  anything  to  eat. 

We  built  two  fires,  one  to  cook  by  and  the 
other  for  a  smudge.  I  suppose  we  could  have 
eaten  raw  potatoes  if  we  had  to,  but  we  didn't 
have  to.  Mark  fussed  around  under  some 
bundles  and  pulled  out  some  bacon  he'd  sliced 
at  the  house,  and  some  potatoes.  Then  out 
of  a  box  of  sand  he  dug  four  eggs.  I  knew 
I  might  have  trusted  him  to  see  we  wouldn't 
starve. 

By  the  time  we  had  supper  cooked  and  eaten 
and  the  things  washed  up  we  were  plenty 
tired.  We'd  have  gone  off  to  bed,  only  we 
didn't  think  the  mosquitoes  would  let  us  sleep. 

We  sat  up  awhile  in  the  smudge,  but  final- 
ly I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.  It  was 
too  nasty  on  the  ground.  We  both  climbed 
up  on  the  bed  and  rolled  up  in  our  blankets. 

"H-hope  we  rind  your  uncle  Hieronymous 
before  another  n-night,"  says  Mark, 
159 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

There's  only  one  good  thing  I  can  say  about 
that  night — we  weren't  cold.  Everything 
else  in  the  world  was  the  matter  with  it.  If 
there  hadn't  been  anything  but  just  the  idea 
of  sleeping  off  there  alone  in  the  heart  of  the 
woods  it  would  have  been  very  comfortable. 
How  did  we  know  what  sort  of  animal  might 
come  along?  And  there  might  be  snakes! 
It's  easy  for  Tallow  and  Plunk  to  say  they 
wouldn't  been  nervous,  but  they  were  back 
in  uncle's  house,  where  they  could  lock  the 
door  and  get  in  bed.  You  don't  want  to  say 
you  would  be  so  mighty  brave  in  a  place 
until  you've  been  in  it. 

We  did  sleep  some.  Most  likely  we  slept 
more  than  we  thought  we  did.  At  any  rate, 
it  wasn't  enough.  I  was  waked  up  just  about 
the  crack  of  day,  and  I  was  mean  enough  to 
wake  Mark  up  for  company.  We  laid  and 
talked  a  spell,  and  then  got  up  to  finish  fixing 
the  canoe  and  have  our  breakfast. 

It  didn't  take  so  very  long  to  patch  up  the 
canoe  so  it  would  float  and  didn't  leak. 
Breakfast  was  pretty  thin,  too.  We  didn't 
feel  like  cooking,  somehow. 

The  next  thing  on  the  program  was  to 
haul  the  canoe  around  the  fallen  tree  and  get 
160 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

into  it.  This  wasn't  so  easy  as  it  sounds,  es- 
pecially the  getting-into-it  part.  We  tugged 
and  pulled  her  over  to  the  water,  but  the 
bank  dropped  off  sharp,  and  the  current  just 
more  than  rushed  by.  Mark  tied  a  rope  to 
the  canoe  and  got  in.  She  was  half  in  the 
water  then.  I  pushed  her  along  till  she  was 
all  afloat,  but  I  didn't  dare  let  go  my  hold 
on  the  rope  to  jump  in  myself.  I  stood  three 
or  four  feet  from  the  shore,  pulling  for  dear 
life  to  keep  the  canoe  from  getting  away  from 
me. 

"P-p-put  the  rope  around  that  tree,"  says 
Mark,  pointing.  "Then  th-throw  the  end  to 
me.  I  can  hold  her  that  way,  and  let  her  g-go 
when  I  want  to." 

I  did  what  he  said  and  got  the  end  of  the 
rope  to  him,  all  right.  It  was  as  simple  as 
could  be.  I  could  have  thought  of  it  myself, 
only  somehow  I  didn't  happen  to.  Mark 
was  one  of  the  kind  of  fellows  that  usually 
happen  to  think  of  what  they  need  to  think  of. 

I  scrambled  aboard,  and  Mark  let  go  the 
rope.  We  spun  around  twice  before  we  could 
get  control  of  the  canoe  again,  but  no  harm 
came  of  it. 

The  stream  carried  us  along  at  a  ripping 
161 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

speed.  We  began  to  breathe  in  the  good  air, 
and  after  a  while  the  tiredness  was  breathed 
out  of  us  and  we  began  to  enjoy  ourselves. 
It  was  pretty  in  those  woods.  All  along  the 
edge  of  the  stream  were  flowers,  and  birds 
were  flying  overhead,  and  turtles  and  frogs 
were  splashing  in  as  we  went  by.  Somehow 
it  didn't  seem  as  if  a  human  being  ever  saw 
it  all  before.  There  wasn't  a  thing  to  make 
you  think  a  man  ever  was  near.  It  was  just 
woods,  woods,  woods,  and  stream,  stream, 
stream.  I'll  bet  it  didn't  look  a  bit  different 
when  Columbus  discovered  America. 

As  I  say,  we  were  enjoying  ourselves  and 
forgetting  all  about  how  bad  a  night  we  passed. 
We  were  looking  forward  to  meeting  Uncle 
Hieronymous  pretty  soon  and  warning  him 
so  he  wouldn't  lose  his  mine,  and  then,  we 
said,  we  could  drive  back  to  the  house  and 
take  things  easy  the  rest  of  the  summer. 

We  planned  all  sorts  of  things  we  would 
do.  Mark  just  got  through  plannin'  how  we 
would  go  over  to  the  lake  and  explore  all 
around  it  when  we  spun  around  the  last  bend 
of  the  cut-off  and  shot  out  into  the  main 
river.  That  was  sort  of  a  relief,  but  it 
wasn't  any  relief  when  somebody  not  a  hun- 
162 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

dred  feet  up-stream  from  us  yelled,  "There 
they  are!" 

We  looked  quick,  and  who  should  we  see 
but  Collins  and  Jiggins,  in  their  boat,  coming 
for  us  as  hard  as  they  could  come. 


CHAPTER  XII 

M&YBE  you've  never  noticed  it,  but  when 
anything  dangerous  or  exciting  or  un- 
expected happens  your  body  does  something 
or  other  without  your  knowing  what  it  is 
going  to  do  and  without  your  asking  it  to 
do  it.  You  say  you  were  startled  into  doing 
whatever  it  was.  Maybe  that's  the  expla- 
nation of  it,  but  Mark  Tidd  says  it's  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation.  He  knows  a  lot 
of  words  like  that. 

Well,  this  instinct  of  self-preservation  made 
Mark  and  me  do  the  same  thing  at  the  same 
time.  It  made  us  dig  our  paddles  into  the 
water  and  scoot  down-stream  as  fast  as  we 
could  make  the  canoe  go. 

A  canoe  is  a  lot  faster  and  easier  to  handle 
than  a  scow — even  a  special  scow  made  for 
the  river.  When  we  first  saw  Jiggins  and 
Collins  in  their  boat  they  weren't  more  than 
a  hundred  feet  from  us,  and  they  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  getting  started  first.  After  we 
164 


MARK   TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

got  started  they  didn't  gain,  though.  We 
didn't  gain  much,  either,  because  what  our 
canoe  gave  us  in  lightness  they  made  up  in 
strength. 

They  were  too  busy  to  yell  at  us,  and  we 
had  our  hands  full  without  doing  any  talking 
in  particular.  We  just  dug  in. 

After  a  few  minutes  Mark  whispered,  "How 
we  m-makin'  it?" 

"Holdin'  our  own,"  says  I. 

At  that  rate  they'd  catch  us,  or  at  least 
Mark  said  so. 

"We'll  t-tire  first,"  says  he.  "They  can 
k-keep  it  up  longer  than  we  can." 

"We  might's  well  give  up,  then,"  says  I, 
"and  save  ourselves  all  this  work." 

"Can  you  p-p-paddle  a  little  harder?"  he 
asked. 

"Not  much,"  says  I. 

"For  as  long  as  you  can,"  says  he,  "p-pad- 
dle  as  hard  as  you  can.  See  if  we  can't  g-gain 
a  little." 

It  seemed  like  my  back  would  break  and 
my  arms  come  out  by  the  roots,  but  I  worked 
just  a  little  harder,  and  so  did  Mark.  I  looked 
back  and  it  did  seem  as  if  we  were  some  far- 
ther away  from  the  other  boat  than  we  were. 
165 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Keep  it  up,"  says  I. 

We  did,  and  we  gained.  At  last  we  gained 
so  much  we  turned  a  bend  out  of  their 
sight.  This  didn't  mean  we  were  far  away. 
I  should  say  it  didn't.  It  couldn't  have  been 
two  hundred  feet  at  the  very  most.  The 
turn  was  sharp,  and  like  a  letter  "S."  The 
part  we  turned  into  was  like  the  lower  loop 
of  the  letter,  and  right  at  the  narrowest  point 
were  some  tall  weeds  and  bushes  that  grew 
right  down  to  the  shore. 

"L-looks  as  if  there  was  a  stream  went  in 
t-there,"  Mark  stuttered. 

We  didn't  have  time  to  plan  or  figure. 
Mark  was  the  sort  to  go  slow  and  plan  and 
plot  when  there  was  time  for  it,  but  when  he 
had  to  decide  quick  he  could  do  it,  and  quicker 
than  anybody  else  I  ever  knew. 

"T-try  it,"  he  snapped,  and  swung  the 
canoe  toward  the  weeds. 

I  helped.  It  was  about  the  only  chance 
we  had  to  fool  Jiggins  and  Collins,  and  it 
wasn't  such  a  very  good  one,  either.  If 
there  was  water  through  those  bushes,  all 
right.  Maybe  they  wouldn't  see  we'd  gone 
in  that  way.  If  there  wasn't  water  our  goose 
was  cooked,  and  no  mistake  about  it. 
166 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

But  there  was  water.  The  bushes  almost 
stopped  us — almost.  We  pushed  our  paddles 
against  the  bottom  and  shoved  our  way 
through.  Quick  as  a  wink  Mark  turned  the 
canoe  again,  for  there  was  a  sort  of  pond  back 
there  that  gave  a  little  room.  He  sent  us 
splashing  over  to  one  side  so  we  were  out  of 
sight  of  the  opening  we  came  through.  After 
that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 

We  didn't  have  to  wait  very  long.  In 
about  a  minnit  we  heard  the  other  boat  come 
floundering  along.  I  thought  it  was  going 
by,  all  right,  and  that  we  wouldn't  be  dis- 
covered. Mark's  face  looked  disappointed, 
actually  disappointed.  But  the  boat  stopped. 
Then  its  blunt  end  came  nosing  through  the 
high  grasses  and  bushes,  and  Jiggins's  round 
face  came  into  sight.  Mark  sighed,  and  it 
really  was  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  d-d-didn't  think  we'd  fool  'em  this  way," 
he  said.  "I'd  'a'  been  disappointed  in  Jiggins 
if  we  had." 

That  was  it.  Mark  had  made  up  his  mind 
Jiggins  was  a  great  man  just  because  both  of 
them  were  fat  and  looked  something  alike; 
and  he  would  have  been  disappointed  if  Jig- 
gins  had  been  easy  to  bamboozle.  I  expect 
167 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

he  had  it  all  planned  out  he'd  get  a  lot  more 
credit  for  getting  the  best  of  a  sharp  man 
than  of  one  that  didn't  have  many  brains. 

Jiggins  saw  us,  and  his  eyes  twinkled. 
"Hello,  boys!"  says  he.  "Glad  to  see  you. 
Most  p'ticularly  glad  to  see  you.  You 
wouldn't  believe  it,  but  we've  been  looking 
for  you.  Collins  and  myself,  we've  actually 
been  trying  to  find  you." 

Mark  sort  of  grinned.  "I  didn't  f-f-figger 
on  that  boat,"  says  he,  pointing  to  the  scow 
Jiggins  was  in. 

"You  should  always  figure  on  everything. 
Better  luck  next  time.  Can't  always  win." 

Collins  stood  up  and  looked  over  at  us. 
"Quite  considerable  of  a  race  for  a  few  min- 
nits,"  he  says.  "For  boys  that  don't  know 
much  about  paddling  you're  pretty  good 
paddlers." 

I  will  say  they  were  good-natured  men  and 
pleasant  company.  If  they  hadn't  been  the 
enemy  we'd  have  liked  them  fine.  I'm  not 
sure  we  didn't  like  them  pretty  average  well 
as  it  was.  It  never  occurred  to  us  to  be  afraid 
of  them;  we  knew  they  wouldn't  hurt  us, 
whatever  happened.  All  they  would  do  was 
try  to  get  to  Uncle  Hieronymous  before  we 
168 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

could  and  to  keep  us  from  giving  them  away. 
Somehow  it  seemed  more  like  a  game  where 
you  had  to  use  your  brains  than  an  adventure 
out  in  the  woods. 

"Come  on  out,"  says  Jiggins.  "Be  so- 
ciable." 

There  wasn't  anything  else  to  do  but  come, 
so  we  pushed  the  canoe  over  to  the  flatboat. 

"Now,"  says  Jiggins,  "I  think  I'll  be 
easier  in  my  mind  if  we  divide  up  a  bit,  eh? 
Fat  man  and  fat  boy  in  this  boat;  thin  man 
and  thin  boy  in  that  boat.  More  appropri- 
ate." While  we  were  making  the  change 
he  leaned  back  and  sang,  "  Tee-deedle-dee- 
deedle-dum-deedle-dee,"  over  and  over  again. 

Mark  and  Jiggins  started  out  first,  and 
Collins  and  I  followed.  When  we  got  out 
on  the  river  we  kept  as  clost  together  as  we 
could  so  we  could  talk.  But  mostly  we 
couldn't  keep  side  by  side,  for  the  channel 
was  too  narrow  and  winding.  Even  when  the 
river  was  wide  enough  for  two  boats  abreast, 
which  it  usually  was,  there  were  sand-bars 
and  shallows  and  snags  and  dead-heads. 
Why,  we  almost  needed  a  pilot  to  get  along 
at  all! 

Collins  and  I  had  a  pretty  good  time.  He 
169 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

knew  lots  of  interesting  things  about  the 
woods  and  animals  and  camping  and  hunting. 
Mark  and  Jiggins  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
themselves,  too,  for  they  kept  talking  to  each 
other  as  solemn  as  owls.  Usually  when  Mark 
has  that  awful  solemn  look  he's  making  some 
sort  of  a  joke,  and  I  persume  Jiggins  is  the 
same  way.  Neither  of  them  laughed  out  loud 
or  let  on  there  was  anything  funny,  but  I 
bet  anybody  else  would  have  laughed  till  he 
split  at  what  they  were  saying  to  each  other. 

After  a  while  we  drew  up  alongside  for  a 
little  while. 

Jiggins  turned  to  me  and  says,  "  Uncle 
Hieronymous  down  this  way?" 

Maybe  he  was  expecting  to  take  me  by 
surprise  and  get  something  out  of  me,  but  he 
didn't.  I  just  grinned  at  him  and  Mark 
and  told  him  uncle  was  one  of  the  hardest 
men  to  locate  exactly  I  ever  saw. 

"Well,"  says  Jiggins,  "if  he's  along  the 
river  we'll  see  him,  won't  we?  And  if  he 
isn't  you  won't  see  him.  Very  good.  No 
harm  done  either  way.  We'll  find  him  some 
day.  No  fear.  Can't  miss." 

"Yes,"  says  Mark,  "we'll  sh-sh-show  him 
to  you  some  day." 

170 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"When?"  asked  Jiggins,  grinning  a  little. 

"Any  time  after  we've  had  a  f-f-few  min- 
utes' talk  with  him." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  is?"  Collins 
put  in. 

Mark  looked  at  him  a  minute  before  he 
decided  what  to  say.  Then  he  says,  "Honest 
to  g-g-goodness,  Mr.  Collins,  we  don't  know 
exactly." 

"I  see  we'll  have  to  keep  you  right  with 
us,"  says  Collins. 

"And  I'm  glad  of  it,"  says  Jiggins.  "Good 
company,  eh?  Surely.  Enjoy  ourselves. 
Never  quarrel.  You  try  to  win;  we  try  to 
win — no  hard  feelings." 

"That's  all  right,"  I  says,  "but  do  you 
think  it's  very  honest  to  try  to  get  away 
Uncle  Hieronymous's  mine?" 

"Honest?  Why  not?"  You  could  see  he 
was  really  surprised.  He  couldn't  see  why 
it  wasn't  all  right  to  buy  a  man's  land  for  a 
little  bit  of  money  when  really  it  was  worth 
a  whole  lot  because  there  was  a  mine  on  it 
the  owner  didn't  know  about.  "D'you  think 
I  ought  to  tell  him  about  the  mine?"  says  he. 
"That's  bosh,"  he  says.  " 'Twouldn't  be 

business.     If  your  uncle  wants  to  know  if 
12  II 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

there's  a  mine  on  his  land  let  him  look  for  it. 
We  had  to." 

I  suppose  there  was  something  to  his  side 
of  it.  He  and  Collins,  or  whoever  it  was  they 
worked  for,  had  found  the  mine,  and  it  did 
look  as  if  they  ought  to  have  something  out 
of  it.  Uncle  never  would  have  found  it.  I 
tell  you  it's  pretty  hard  to  judge  other  folks 
and  say  when  they're  honest  or  dishonest. 
Mark  says  it  depends  a  lot  on  the  way  you 
look  at  things  or  how  you've  been  brought 
up.  As  for  me,  honest  is  honest  and  dis- 
honest is  dishonest,  and  I  can't  quite  get  it 
into  my  head  how  anything  makes  it  dif- 
ferent. Maybe  it  does,  though.  At  any  rate, 
I  couldn't  get  to  feeling  Jiggins  and  Collins 
were  bad. 

We  just  dawdled  along  that  day.  When 
we  stopped  for  dinner  we  took  two  or  three 
hours  to  it  and  didn't  start  out  again  till 
the  hottest  part  of  the  afternoon  was 
over. 

Jiggins  was  a  good  cook.  He  and  Mark 
'tended  to  getting  the  meal,  but  this  was  one 
of  the  times  Mark  didn't  do  much  but  look 
on.  Jiggins  showed  him  things.  You  could 
see,  without  half  looking,  that  Mark  thought 
172 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

a  heap  of  the  fat  man.  Mark  right  down 
admired  him. 

After  dinner  Mark  and  I  sat  down  together 
and  talked  a  spell. 

"He's  a  g-g-great  man,"  says  Mark. 

"Shucks!"  says  I. 

"He's  beat  us  so  f-far,  hain't  he?" 

"  'Twasn't  nothin'  but  luck.  Are  you  'fraid 
they're  goin'  to  beat  us  all  the  way  through?" 

I  knew  Mark  Tidd  never  would  admit  any 
such  thing  as  that.  Not  him!  "'Course 
n-not,"  says  he.  "But  it's  goin'  t-to  be 
p-p-perty  hard  sleddin'  for  us.  If  it  was  just 
Collins  I  wouldn't  worry  a  speck.  But  Jig- 
gins!  He's  g-g-got  a  head  for  thinkin',  he 
has." 

"Got  any  scheme  for  escapin'?"  I  asked 
him. 

"Not  yet.  I'm  p-p-plannin',  though.  It's 
got  to  be  at  night.  If  I've  f-f-figgered  right 
we  got  to-night  and  to-morrow  night.  'Tain't 
1-likely  we'll  come  up  with  your  uncle  till 
day  after  to-morrow,  g-g-goin'  at  the  rate  we 
are." 

"Never  put  off  till  to-morrer  night  what 
you  kin  do  to-night,"  I  says. 

"I  wish  I  knew  m-m-more  about  the  coun- 
.  173 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

try,"  he  stuttered.  "Then  we  c-could  leave 
the  river  and  cut  across  lots.  As  it  is  we  got 
to  st-st-stick  to  the  water." 

"Well,"  I  says,  "you  do  the  plannin'  and 
tell  me  when  you're  ready  to  do  somethin'. 
I'm  goin'  to  take  a  nap." 

The  last  I  remember  seeing  of  him  he  was 
leaning  back  against  a  tree,  with  his  little  eyes 
shut,  and  he  was  pinching  and  tugging  away 
at  his  fat  cheek  like  all-git-out.  He  was 
thinking.  Next  thing  he'd  do  would  be  get 
out  his  jack-knife  and  whittle.  When  he  did 
that — look  out! 

Collins  waked  me  up,  and  he  and  I  got  into 
the  canoe.  Mark  and  Jiggins  followed  close 
behind  us  in  the  flatboat,  and  I  could  hear 
Jiggins  singing  away  at  his  foolish  tune, 
"Tum-deedle-dee-deedle-dum,"  and  so  on, 
without  any  finish  at  all. 

We  camped  that  night  on  a  sandy  flat. 
While  Jiggins  and  Mark  got  supper  Collins 
and  I  fixed  things  up  for  the  night.  We  cut 
a  lot  of  boughs  and  twigs  for  our  beds  and 
pulled  up  the  canoe  and  the  flatboat  and 
turned  them  over  the  supplies,  so  if  it  rained 
nothing  would  be  spoiled.  Then  we  stretched 
a  clothes-line  between  two  trees  and  threw 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

over  it  a  big  piece  of  grimy  canvas  that  Jig- 
gins  and  Collins  had  brought  along.  The 
edges  of  this  we  pulled  out  and  staked  down 
so  we  had  a  pretty  fair  shelter.  Of  course,  it 
was  open  at  the  ends,  but  it  would  keep  off 
the  dew  and  the  rain  if  there  wasn't  much 
wind.  Mark  came  and  looked  at  it. 

"B-better  dig  a  ditch  around  it,"  says  he. 

"What  for?"  Collins  asked. 

"If  it  rains,"  says  Mark,  "the  d-d-ditch  '11 
carry  off  the  water  that  runs  off  the  t-tent. 
If  you  don't  have  a  d-d-ditch  you'll  have  a 
p-p-puddle  right  where  you  sleep." 

Collins  allowed  that  sounded  sensible,  so 
we  scooped  out  a  little  trench  all  the  way 
around,  with  a  canal  leading  away  toward  the 
river.  By  that  time  supper  was  ready. 

When  we  were  through  eating  we  built  up 
the  fire  so  it  would  give  light  and  keep  us 
warm.  Jiggins  and  Collins  walked  around  to 
get  the  stiffness  out  of  their  legs  and  to  smoke. 
Mark  and  I  sat  down,  or,  rather,  laid  down, 
close  to  the  fire. 

"I  g-g-got  a  scheme,"  says  Mark. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

Just  then  Collins  strolled  over  our  way,  and 
Mark  shut  up  tight  as  a  locked  door.  I  looked 
175 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

arotind  for  Jiggins,  but  I  couldn't  see  him. 
I  supposed  he'd  just  walked  off  to  look  around 
a  bit,  but  that  wasn't  it.  Maybe  ifp'd  called 
it  to  Mark's  attention  things  would  have 
turned  out  differently  from  what  they  did, 
but  I  didn't  think  it  was  important.  You 
never  can  tell,  though.  After  this  I'm  not 
going  to  overlook  anything,  no  matter  how 
silly  I  may  think  it  is.  Mark  says  the  silliest 
things  on  the  surface  are  sometimes  the  deep- 
est down  underneath.  This  was  one  of  them. 
Mark  said  Jiggins  was  a  great  man,  and — 
well,  I  came  pretty  close  to  agreeing  with 
before  morning. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SO  you  can  understand  just  what  hap- 
pened that  night  I  will  tell  you  as  care- 
fully as  I  can  just  how  our  camp  lay  and  where 
everything  in  and  around  it  was.  Then 
you'll  be  able  to  see  how  hard  it  was  to  plan 
a  way  for  Mark  and  me  to  escape,  and  what 
a  lot  of  brains  Mark  Tidd  had  to  have  to 
figure  out  ahead  of  time  just  about  what 
Jiggins  and  Collins  would  do  with  us.  I 
never  could  have  done  it.  If  I  was  going  to 
think  up  a  scheme  to  get  away  I'd  have  to 
wait  till  we  were  all  fixed  the  way  we  were 
going  to  be.  Maybe  then  I  could  have  fig- 
gered  something  out;  but  with  Mark  it  was 
different.  He  looked  ahead.  He  was  always 
putting  himself  into  somebody  else's  shoes 
and  trying  to  think  just  the  way  they  would 
think.  I  couldn't  do  that.  But  Mark  would 
just  make  believe  he  was  the  other  fellow,  and 
you'd  be  surprised  to  see  how  many  times  he 
hit  it  right. 

177 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Well,  the  camp  was  on  a  sandy  flat  shaped 
like  a  triangle.  The  river  ran  past  the  base 
of  it,  and  high  banks  climbed  almost  straight 
up  from  the  two  sides.  The  whole  thing  was 
covered  with  trees  and  shrubs  and  grasses, 
except  back  about  the  middle,  where  there 
was  a  small  bare  patch  of  sand,  and  here  we 
had  our  tent.  The  base  of  the  triangle  was 
about  two  hundred  feet  long,  and  each  of  the 
sides  was  a  little  more  than  that,  I  should 
say. 

When  we  came  we  hauled  up  our  boats 
at  the  up-stream  end  of  the  flat  and  turned 
them  over  there.  That  spot  was  over  a  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  camp,  and  you  couldn't 
see  the  boats  from  the  tent.  The  fire  was  at 
the  end  of  the  tent  that  pointed  up-stream. 
The  supplies  and  paddles  and  oars  were  all 
left  under  the  boats. 

When  we  turned  in  Collins  slept  across  one 
opening  of  the  tent  and  Jiggins  across  the 
other.  Their  feet  touched  canvas  on  one  side 
and  their  heads  touched  it  on  the  other. 
Mark  and  I  slept  between.  We  were  so  close 
together,  when  we  all  got  in,  that  we  touched, 
and  before  a  fellow  could  roll  over  he  came 
pretty  close  to  having  to  ask  the  man  next 
178 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

him  to  help.  Add  to  that  that  Collins  and 
Jiggins  both  bragged  about  how  lightly  they 
slept  and  said  the  least  noise  or  touch  would 
wake  them,  and  you'll  see  they  had  us  pretty 
average  safe.  We  couldn't  wiggle  without 
waking  one  of  them. 

Before  we  went  to  bed  we  sat  by  the  fire 
quite  a  while  and  talked.  Mark  got  to  talk- 
ing about  lassoes  and  bragged  considerable 
about  how  he  could  throw  one  of  them.  Jig- 
gins  made  fun  of  him,  and  Mark  said  get  a 
rope  for  him  and  he'd  show  what  he  could 
do.  It  was  pretty  dark  then,  but  Collins 
fished  a  piece  of  line  about  forty  feet  long 
out  of  the  mess  of  stuff  under  the  boats  and 
told  Mark  to  go  ahead. 

Mark  made  a  noose  in  the  rope  and  had 
me  run  back  and  forth  in  the  firelight  while 
he  whirled  the  thing  around  his  head  and 
threw  at  me.  He  was  pretty  good  at  it,  and 
no  mistake.  He  could  catch  me  every  time, 
and  about  the  way  he  wanted  to.  First 
he'd  get  me  around  the  neck,  and  then  by 
one  foot,  and  sometimes  by  a  hand  if  it  hap- 
pened to  be  sticking  out.  He  told  me  after- 
ward he'd  been  practising  it  in  his  back  yard 
ever  since  a  Wild  West  show  came  to  our 
179 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

country-seat.  He'd  kept  still  about  it  be- 
cause he  wanted  to  give  Plunk  and  Tallow 
and  me  a  surprise  when  he  got  so  he  could 
throw  good. 

We  fussed  around  like  that  for  half  an 
hour,  and  then  Mark  said  he  was  tired.  He 
tossed  the  rope  off  to  the  side  of  the  tent 
where  there  was  a  sapling  growing  about 
fifteen  feet  away. 

"Better  get  some  more  firewood,"  says 
Collins,  and  he  and  Jiggins  and  I  went  off 
looking  for  dry  sticks.  Mark  didn't  go  far, 
though.  While  we  were  busy  he  tied  his  rope 
tight  to  the  tree  and  carried  one  end  up  and 
pushed  it  under  the  tent.  There  was  about 
twenty  feet  to  spare,  so  he  cut  that  off  and 
brought  it  inside. 

Of  course,  I  didn't  know  that  till  after- 
ward, but  he  told  me  just  how  he  did  it.  The 
piece  of  rope  he  cut  off  he  laid  through  the 
tent  from  one  end  to  the  other  about  a  foot 
from  the  side  where  our  feet  would  go.  So 
nobody'd  notice  it  he  pushed  it  down  under 
the  boughs  we  had  to  sleep  on.  Then  he  went 
back  and  got  an  armful  of  sticks  and  threw 
them  down  by  the  fire.  When  we  got  back 
with  our  loads  he  lay  there  with  his  eyes  shut, 
180 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

looking  as  sleepy  as  an  old  frog.  He  yawned 
and  yawned  and  rubbed  his  eyes  and  said  he 
guessed  he'd  go  to  bed.  I  went  in  with  him. 

We  got  fixed  before  Collins  and  Jiggins 
were  through  their  smoke. 

"Move  around  c-c-consid'able,"  says  Mark 
in  a  whisper.  "Sort  of  git  them  used  to 
h-h-havin'  you  rub  against  them." 

I  couldn't  see  any  sense  to  that,  but,  all 
the  same,  I  said  I'd  do  it.  You  can't  see  any 
sense  to  lots  of  things  Mark  wants  you  to 
do,  but  usually  you  find  out  he  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about. 

"K-k-keep  awake  if  you  can,"  he  says 
next,  stuttering  like  anything.  "I'll  p-pinch 
you  every  little  while,  and  you  p-pinch  me. 
That  '11  do  it,  I  guess." 

Then  Jiggins  and  Collins  came  in.  Collins 
laid  down  next  to  me,  and  Jiggins  took  the 
other  end.  They  said  good  night  as  polite 
as  if  we  were  back  home  instead  of  out  in  the 
woods,  or  as  if  they  were  visitors  instead  of 
guards.  Mark  and  I  said  good  night  back 
again,  and  then  everybody  kept  quiet  for  a 
spell.  I  got  drowsy. 

The  next  thing  that  happened  was  Jiggins 
speaking. 

181 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"For  goodness*  sake,  son,"  says  he  to  Mark, 
"keep  still.  Be  quiet.  You  roll  like  a  boat 
in  a  heavy  sea.  Go  to  sleep." 

Mark  quieted  down  a  little,  and  I  remem- 
bered to  stir  about  like  he  said.  Collins  stood 
it  a  few  minnits  and  then  nudged  me  with 
his  elbow.  "Binney,"  says  he,  "want  me  to 
sing  you  to  sleep?" 

"No,"  says  I.    "Why?" 

"Because,"  says  he,  "I'd  be  willing  to  do 
'most  anything  to  get  you  still.  You  wiggle 
like  an  angleworm." 

"I  hain't  comfortable,"  I  told  him. 

"Well,"  says  he,  "I  hope  you  tire  yourself 
out  pretty  soon.  You're  tirin*  me." 

At  that  Mark  pinched  my  arm. 

We  kept  quiet  after  that  for  quite  a  while, 
maybe  half  an  hour.  Every  minnit  or  so 
Mark  would  pinch  me,  and  if  he  missed  I'd 
pinch  him.  That  way  there  wasn't  any  dan- 
ger of  our  going  to  sleep. 

Both  Collins  and  Jiggins  began  to  snore. 
I  laid  as  still  as  I  could  and  never  wiggled 
even  an  eyelash.  After  a  while  Mark  nudged 
me  with  his  elbow. 

"S-s-squirrn  some,"  says  he,  under  his 
breath. 

182 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

I  moved  my  legs  and  twisted  my  shoulders. 
Collins  sort  of  grunted  in  his  sleep  and  threw 
up  his  arm,  but  he  didn't  wake.  I  could  feel 
Mark  moving  on  the  other  side  of  me,  and 
then  Jiggins  muttered  something  in  a  drowsy 
voice.  He  didn't  sound  a  quarter  awake. 

There  was  another  wait,  then  Mark  whis- 
pered in  my  ear  to  snuggle  as  close  to  Collins 
as  I  could  so  as  to  give  him  room.  I  did.  He 
moved  over  so  part  of  him  was  on  top  of  me, 
and  that  left  him  clear  of  Jiggins.  There 
was  the  dimmest  sort  of  light  from  the  coals 
in  front  of  the  tent,  so  I  could  just  make  out 
Mark  and  guess  at  what  he  was  doing.  The 
first  thing  he  did  was  to  get  his  jack-knife 
out  of  his  pocket  and,  cautious  as  anything, 
cut  a  slit  about  a  foot  and  a  half  high  in  the 
canvas.  He  reached  through  that  and  got 
hold  of  the  rope.  He  began  to  pull.  Now 
you'll  see  it  was  a  lot  easier  for  him  to  haul 
himself  out  by  degrees  like  he  was  a  cork  in 
a  bottle  than  it  would  be  for  him  to  move 
around  and  get  up  and  step  over  Jiggins. 
That  would  have  made  a  commotion  and  con- 
siderable noise,  while  by  pulling  himself  out 
a  couple  of  inches  at  a  time  you  could  hardly 
notice  anything  at  all  was  happening.  If  I 
183 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

hadn't  been  awake  and  looking  and  listening 
I  never  would  have  discovered  what  he  was 
at  at  all. 

My  heart  was  beating  like  somebody  was 
pounding  on  it  with  a  mallet.  It  was  exciting, 
I  can  tell  you.  The  longer  it  took  and  the 
slower  and  more  deliberate  Mark  was  the 
more  exciting  it  got,  until  before  his  feet  dis- 
appeared through  the  slit  I  could  have  up 
and  hollered. 

As  soon  as  I  dared  I  scrooched  over  in 
front  of  the  slit  in  the  canvas  and  grabbed 
the  rope  like  Mark  did.  It  wasn't  any  trick 
at  all  to  inch  myself  out,  and  before  very 
long  I  got  up  outside  and  looked  around 
for  Mark. 

We  weren't  safe  yet  by  a  long  ways.  No, 
sir,  we  were  not.  Collins  and  Jiggins  were 
asleep  not  six  feet  from  us,  and  the  least  noise 
might  wake  them  up.  Then  there  was  danger 
one  of  them  might  happen  to  wake  and  feel 
for  us.  He'd  find  us  gone,  and  it  wouldn't 
take  him  long  to  get  after  us,  you  can  bet. 
We  didn't  stay  around  there. 

One  of  the  funniest  sights  in  the  world  is 
to  watch  Mark  Tidd  tiptoe.  It's  sort  of  like 
a  hippopotamus  trying  to  waltz.  But  it  is 
184 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

surprising  how  quiet  he  can  go.  He's  lighter 
on  his  feet  than  I  am,  and  he  weighs  pretty 
close  to  three  times  as  much. 

We  went  straight  back  away  from  the  tent 
and  then  took  a  wide  swing  around  to  the 
boats. 

' '  Q-quiet  now, ' '  says  Mark.  ' '  Shove  in  the 
canoe." 

We  lifted  it  and  set  it  on  the  edge  of  the 
river  and  pushed  it  in. 

"I'll  hold  her,"  says  Mark,  "while  you 
g-g-git  the  p-p-paddles  and  things."  He  was 
so  excited  he  stuttered  until  he  sounded 
almost  like  a  gasolene-engine  that  was  out  of 
kilter. 

I  grabbed  what  came  first.  Anything  that 
felt  like  it  could  be  eaten  was  what  I  wanted 
to  make  sure  of.  In  three  minnits  I  had  the 
boat  as  full  as  I  dared  make  it.  Then  I  went 
back  after  the  paddles. 

Well,  sir,  I  looked  under  and  over  and 
between  and  among  for  them,  but  not  a  pad- 
dle was  there  to  be  seen.  I  moved  things  and 
rooted  into  the  sand  and  went  around  near-by 
trees  to  see  if  they  were  stood  up  out  of  sight, 
but  all  I  got  was  a  pair  of  scratched  hands. 

"Mark,"  says  I,  "there  hain't  no  paddles." 
185 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"What?"  says  he,  like  somebody  'd  hit  him 
in  the  stomach. 

"The  paddles  are  gone,"  I  said. 

He  sat  plump  down  on  the  sand  and  let  his 
head  lop  over  forward.  You  could  tell  by  the 
way  he  acted  he  was  ashamed.  He  was  cut. 

"I  m-m-might  'a'  known  it,"  says  he. 
"I  m-m-might  'a'  seen  it." 

"Shucks!"  says  I.  "Nobody  could  have 
guessed  it." 

"It's  exactly  what  I'd  'a'  d-d-done  in  his 
place,"  he  says.  He  sighed,  and  then :  ' '  And  I 
wasn't  undervaluin'  him,  n-n-neither.  It  was 
n-n-nothin'  but  carelessness." 

"Pickles!"  says  I.  "Let's  make  the  best 
of  it." 

"How?"  says  he. 

"Find  a  board  and  use  it  for  a  paddle," 
says  I. 

He  looked  at  me  disgusted  and  shook  his 
head.  "I'm  s'prised  at  you,  B-B-Binney. 
You  don't  think  Jiggins  'u'd  'a'  1-left  any 
b-boards  around  handy,  do  you?  Not  him." 

"Well,"  I  says  next,  "what's  the  matter 
with  just  piling  into  the  canoe  and  shovin' 
off?    We'd  git  somewheres,  and  somewheres 
else  is  better  'n  bein'  here." 
186 


MARK    TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

He  thought  a  minnit  or  so.  "'Tain't 
p-p-practical,"  says  he.  "We  dun 'no'  where 
we  are,  do  we?  Nor  how  to  g-git  any  place? 
But,"  says  he,  "there  hain't  n-n-nothin'  else 
to  do.  We'll  run  ashore  or  git  wrecked  or 
somethin',  but  come  on." 

I  held  the  boat  while  he  scrambled  in,  and 
was  just  going  to  get  in  myself  when  Jiggins 
spoke  up  from  the  dark  behind  us  and  says: 
"Better  not  start  off  in  the  dark,  boys.  Bet- 
ter not.  'Tain't  advisable.  See  it  for  your- 
selves. Stay  ashore.  To  be  sure." 

I  was  so  surprised  I  didn't  say  a  word,  and 
I  guess  Mark  was  surprised  too.  But  he 
didn't  let  on. 

"I  was  expectin*  you'd  c-c-come  along 
next,"  says  he. 

"I  sort  of  figgered  you'd  try  something  to- 
night," says  Jiggins. 

"It  was  carelessness,  me  f-f-forgettin'  those 
paddles,"  says  Mark. 

"Fellow  can't  think  of  everything,"  says 
Jiggins,  like  he  was  trying  to  keep  Mark 
from  feeling  bad.  "Better  come  back  to 
bed.  Need  sleep.  So  do  I.  So  does  Col- 
lins." 

Mark  got  out  of  the  canoe,  slow  as  molasses. 

is  187 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE   BACKWOODS 

He  didn't  like  to  come  a  bit,  but  he  couldn't 
help  himself. 

"N-n-next  time,"  says  he,  "I  won't  forget 
anythin'." 

"When  '11  next  time  be?"  Jiggins  asked, 
with  a  sort  of  chuckle. 

"It  won't  be  to-night,"  says  Mark. 

"There  hain't  much  time  left,"  I  whispered 
to  him. 

"There's  t-to-morrow  and  t-to-morrow 
night,"  he  says. 

"Somehow  I  don't  feel  a  bit  sleepy,"  I 
told  Mark. 

"N-n-neither  do  I."  He  stopped  a  minnit 
and  tugged  at  his  button  of  a  nose.  "But 
I'm  hungry.  L-let's  get  somethin'  to  eat." 

We  rummaged  around  till  we  found  a 
box  of  crackers,  and  we  started  in  on 
them. 

"  Hey !"  says  Collins,  from  the  tent.  "  What 
you  up  to  now?" 

"Eatin',"  says  Mark. 

We  heard  somebody  stirring  around,  and 
then  Jiggins  cuawled  out. 

"What  you  got?"  he  asked.  "Um.  Lemme 
see.  Crackers,  eh?  Gimme  some.  Gimme 
a  handful.  What  you  mean,  eating  without 
188 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

offering  me  any?     Always   willing   to   eat. 
Always." 

We  passed  the  box  to  him,  and  he  took  half 
a  'dozen.  You  couldn't  get  away  from  it, 
he  was  a  lot  like  Mark  Tidd.  Fat,  always 
hungry,  and_  had  a  lot  of  brains.  I  wondered 
if  Mark  would  be  like  him  when  he  grew  up, 
but  I  thought  not.  I  don't  know  why,  but 
there  was  something/  different  about  Mark. 
It  was  hard  to  figure  out  just  what  it  was, 
but  I  guess  it  was  a  combination  of  things. 
Mark  was  funnier  and  liked  funny  things 
more.  And  he  was  surer  of  himself.  When 
Mark  started  to  do  a  thing  he  never  had 
the  least  bit  of  doubt  he'd  come  out  all  right. 
Jiggins,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  little  worried 
at  times. 

"Got  enough?"  Collins  called.  '"Cause  I 
want  to  get  to  sleep." 

"That's  why  he's  thin,"  says  Jiggins  to 
Mark.  "No  interest  in  food.  Always  sticking 
up  his  nose  at  eating.  Thin.  Skinny.  Don't 
weigh  any  more'n  a  good-sized  feather.  It's 
his  stomach.  Worries  about  it.  Didn't  eat 
between  meals.  Silly,  eh?  We  don't  think 
that  way,  eh,  son?" 

"No,"  says  Mark,  with  a  grin. 
189 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

It  was  peculiar  how  good-natured  every- 
body was.  Of  course,  Jiggins  and  Collins  had 
a  right  to  be  because  they'd  come  out  ahead; 
but  Mark  and  I  didn't  hold  it  up  against  them. 
Funny,  isn't  it?  We  chatted  as  pleasant  as 
if  we  were  close  friends  instead  of  genuine 
enemies  and  opponents-like.  Most  folks 
would  have  growled  and  sulked  and  scowled 
at  each  other,  but  not  one  of  us  did.  If  I've 
got  to  have  enemies  that's  the  way  I'd  like 
to  have  them. 

We  turned  in  pretty  quick,  and  I  didn't 
know  another  thing  till  Collins  woke  me  up 
in  the  morning  by  pouring  a  cup  of  water  on 
me.  He  was  laughing  like  he  thought  it  was 
funny.  So  were  Jiggins  and  Mark.  Every- 
body seems  to  see  how  comical  a  thing  like 
that  is  except  the  fellow  the  water  falls  on. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

third  of  our  days  on  the  river  wasn't 
what  you  could  call  exciting.  It  started 
out  hot  and  got  hotter.  It  wasn't  so  bad 
for  Collins  and  me,  but  Mark  Tidd  and  Jig- 
gins  fried.  We  kept  on,  though.  Jiggins 
said  he  was  tired  of  being  where  he  couldn't 
get  a  square  meal,  and,  heat  or  no  heat,  he 
was  going  to  get  where  there  was  food  in 
large  quantities. 

We  traveled  the  same  way  we  did  the  day 
before — that  is,  Mark  and  Jiggins  in  the  boat 
and  Collins  and  me  in  the  canoe.  Along 
toward  the  middle  of  the  morning  we  saw  a 
farm-house  back  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  river.  Jiggins  pointed. 

"Milk,"  says  he.  "Home-made  bread. 
Urn.  Pickles.  Did  you  hear  that?  Pickles. 
Seems  like  I  couldn't  get  along  without  a 
pickle.  A  long  pickle.  Maybe  sweet,  may- 
be sour — I  don't  care." 

Mark  looked  excited.  "Pie,"  says  he. 
191 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

1 '  I  bet  they  got  p-p-pie.  Cherry-pie !  L-l-let 's 
stop." 

Collins  looked  at  me  and  grinned,  and  I 
looked  at  Collins  and  grinned.  It  was  funny 
the  way  both  those  fat  folks  did  let  their 
minds  run  to  eating.  Not  that  I  would  have 
thrown  a  piece  of  pie  into  the  river  if  some- 
body had  offered  it  to  me,  and  Collins  wasn't 
the  sort  of  fellow  to  use  a  glass  of  fresh  milk 
to  wash  his  face  with,  but  it  was  more — what 
d'you  call  it? — incidental-like  with  us.  With 
them  it  was  about  the  most  important  thing 
there  was.  I'd  like  to  enjoy  something  the 
way  Mark  Tidd  enjoys  eating.  I've  heard 
it  makes  you  dull  to  eat  a  lot,  but  it  didn't 
work  that  way  with  Mark.  He  always  could 
think  better  after  he'd  eaten  a  meal  big 
enough  to  keep  a  family  two  days. 

Of  course,  we  went  ashore.  There  would 
have  been  a  rebellion  right  there  if  we  hadn't. 
We  walked  back  through  the  low  ground  and 
found  a  lane  running  up  to  the  house.  It 
led  to  the  barn-yard  and  around  a  low  shed 
where  the  farmer  kept  his  wagon.  Where  it 
went  we  went.  We  straggled  around  the 
corner  of  that  shed  into  the  yard,  and  then 
we  stopped.  We  stopped  sudden  and  short, 
192 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

and  everybody  said  something  startled,  for 
there,  coming  toward  us  like  he  meant  busi- 
ness and  a  good  deal  of  it,  was  the  biggest 
white  bulldog  I  ever  saw.  Maybe  he  looked 
bigger  than  he  was,  but,  allowing  for  that, 
he  was  plenty  big. 

I  don't  know  what  the  rest  did.  Right 
there  Binney  Jenks  was  a  pretty  busy  kid 
with  no  time  to  fool  with  anybody.  I  turned 
and  went  up  the  fence  and  scrambled  on  top 
of  that  shed  so  quick  it  must  have  looked  like 
I  did  it  in  one  jump.  Collins  was  about  a 
tenth  of  a  second  behind  me.  Mark  and 
Jiggins,  being  so  fat,  weren't  quite  as  quick, 
but  they  did  considerable  moving  when  you 
take  everything  into  consideration.  Both  of 
them  were  on  the  fence  and  the  dog  was 
jumping  at  their  feet.  Mark  got  on  the  shed 
next,  and  that  left  nobody  but  Jiggins  in  reach. 
I  never  saw  a  dog  put  his  mind  to  getting  a 
man  the  way  that  bulldog  did.  He  acted 
like  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  have  a  chunk 
of  Jiggins,  and  it  looked,  too,  as  though  he 
was  going  to  come  pretty  close  to  getting 
what  he  was  after. 

Collins  and  I  sat  still.  We  were  sort  of 
startled  out  of  our  wits,  I  guess,  but  not  Mark. 
193 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

He  was  busy  the  minnit  he  got  on  the  roof. 
By  luck  there  was  a  long  pole  up  there — 
about  twenty  feet  long,  I  guess;  Mark 
grabbed  it  and  crouched  at  the  very  edge  of 
the  roof.  Then  Mister  Dog  jumped  for  Jig- 
gins.  Maybe  you  don't  think  he  was  a  sur- 
prised animal!  Just  as  he  jumped  Mark 
poked,  and  he  poked  good  and  hard.  The 
pole  took  the  dog  in  the  ribs,  and  you  could 
hear  him  say,  "Urgh,"  or  something  like  that. 
He  went  kerflop  and  head  over  heels. 

"H-h-hurry  up!"  says  Mark  to  Jiggins. 

Jiggins  hurried. 

The  dog  wasn't  through,  though.  He  took 
two  more  licks  at  Jiggins  before  the  fat  man 
could  clamber  onto  the  shed,  and  then  sat 
down  and  scowled  at  us.  If  he  couldn't  get 
us  he  was  going  to  see  we  didn't  get  away. 

It  was  sort  of  funny.  I  looked  over  at 
Mark  and  says,  "How  d'you  like  the  pie?" 

He  grinned.  "Guess  they  p-put  p-p-pep- 
per  in  it  by  mistake,"  says  he. 

"Doesn't  look  as  if  anybody  was  home," 
says  Collins,  who  had  been  looking  at  the 
house. 

We  all  looked  then,  and,  sure  enough,  the 
house  was  all  closed  up.  Most  likely  every- 
194 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

body  had  gone  to  town  and  left  the  dog  to 
look  after  things.  They  picked  the  right  one 
to  leave,  all  right.  There  wasn't  anybody 
who  could  have  done  better. 

Well,  there  we  were,  four  of  us  on  a  roof, 
with  the  sun  beating  down  like  sixty,  with 
nothing  to  drink  and  nothing  to  eat,  and  no 
chance  that  we  could  see  of  getting  down 
before  the  folks  who  lived  there  got  home. 
That's  what  comes  of  thinking  about  your 
stomach  all  the  time.  If  appetites  hadn't 
been  invented  we  never  would  have  met  that 
dog,  and  he  was  an  acquaintance  I  would 
have  been  perfectly  willing  not  to  have  known. 

Ten  minnits  before  that  Jiggins  and  Col- 
lins were  our  enemies.  If  ever  you  have  one 
you  want  to  make  an  ally  of,  I  recommend 
a  bulldog  and  the  hot  top  of  a  shed.  We 
were  partners  in  a  second.  We  might  be  en- 
emies again  after  we  got  down,  but  while 
we  were  there  we  were  one  tight  combination. 
All  we  thought  was  bulldog,  and  what  to 
say  to  him  to  persuade  him  we  weren't  meant 
for  food.  He  was  stubborn,  though.  It 
didn't  matter  what  we  said  or  how  kindly 
we  spoke  to  him  or  argued  with  him,  he 
wouldn't  change  his  mind.  If  we  couldn't 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

be  inside  him  he  had  it  figgered  out  we  were 
in  the  next  best  place,  and  he'd  keep  us 
there.  He  was  unreasonable  about  it. 

"Let's  holler,"  I  says. 

" N-no  use,"  says  Mark.  "  Nobody  to  hear 
you.  There  hain't  another  house  in  sight." 

"Wish  we  had  a  gun,"  says  Collins,  with 
one  eye  on  the  bulldog. 

"Wouldn't  shoot  him  if  we  had,"  says 
Jiggins.  "Certainly  not.  No  fault  of  his. 
Doing  his  duty.  Good  dog.  Like  to  own 
him.  Our  fault,  eh?  We  came  in  his  yard. 
Who  asked  us?  Nobody  did.  Well?" 

Come  to  think  of  it,  we  didn't  have  much 
right  to  complain  about  that  dog.  He  was 
doing  what  his  master  told  him  to  do,  and  he 
was  making  a  good  job  of  it. 

"We've  got  to  do  something,"  says  Col- 
lins, with  sweat  trickling  down  his  nose. 
"We  can't  stay  here  all  day." 

"L-1-looks  like  we  couldn't  do  anything 
else,"  says  Mark.  And  Jiggins  grinned. 

"There  must  be  some  way  of  coaxin'  dog- 
gie to  let  us  down,"  I  says. 

"Oh,"  says  Collins,  "he'll  let  us  down,  all 
right.  The  trouble  is,  what  will  he  do  when 
we've  got  down?" 

196 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Mark  sat  down  and  pulled  his  hat  over  his 
eyes.  He  had  his  cheek  between  his  thumb 
and  finger  and  was  pinching  it  so  it  looked 
white. 

"Thi'nTnV,"  says  I  to  Collins.  "He'll  git 
us  down.  You  see." 

Collins  just  grinned  sort  of  sickly.  He 
didn't  seem  to  have  any  great  confidence  in 
Mark,  but  then  he  didn't  know  Mark  as  well 
as  I  did. 

After  a  few  minnits  Mark  got  up  and 
walked  to  the  edge  of  the  shed  away  from  the 
dog.  He  stood  there  measuring  with  his  eye 
how  far  it  was  to  a  sort  of  lean-to  against 
the  side  of  the  barn.  I  went  over  and  looked, 
too.  It  must  have  been  twelve  or  fifteen 
feet — too  far  to  jump,  by  considerable. 

"Great  if  we  had  a  bridge,"  says  I. 

"There's  m-m-more  ways  of  crossin*  a 
river  than  on  a  b-b-bridge,"  says  he. 

"Yes,"  I  told  him,  "you  can  wade.  But 
the  wadin'  hain't  very  healthy  right  here." 

"Hum!"  says  he,  and  turned  around  to 
where  he  laid  the  pole  he  had  used  to  poke 
the  dog  with.  "H-how'd  that  do?"  he  asked 
me. 

"Nobody  could  walk  across  it  or  even 
197 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

crawl  across,  and  if  you  were  to  hang  by 
your  hands  and  go  over  that  way  the  dog 
Vd  get  your  legs." 

"Binney,"  says  Mark,  patronizing-like, 
"what  were  you  and  Tallow  and  Plunk  doing 
in  Plunk's  back  yard  all  last  week?" 

I  thought  back  and  remembered  we'd 
been  pole-vaulting.  I  said  so. 

"Well?"  says  Mark. 

All  of  a  sudden  it  hit  me.  I  felt  pretty 
cheap,  too.  There  I  was,  the  fellow  that  was 
interested  in  pole-vaulting  and  things  like 
that,  and  here  the  first  time  in  my  life  it 
really  would  have  come  in  handy  I  overlooked 
it  altogether.  But  my  head  isn't  like  Mark's. 
He  stores  up  in  his  everything  he  sees,  think- 
ing maybe  he  can  use  it  some  day. 

"I  kin  vault  across,  I  guess,"  I  told  him, 
"but  you  and  Jiggins  never  could.  The  pole 
hain't  built  that  wouldn't  bust  under  you." 

"We  don't  n-need  to,"  says  he. 

"What's  this?"  Collins  asked.  He  and 
Jiggins  had  been  talking  on  the  other  side  of 
the  roof  and  hadn't  heard  what  was  going 
on. 

"Binney  says  he   can  v-vault  onto   that 
other  shed,"  says  Mark. 
198 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"  What  of  it?" 

"Can  you  do  it?"  Mark  asked  me. 

I  didn't  like  it  very  well,  I'll  admit.  First, 
there  was  the  dog  to  get  me  if  I  missed; 
second,  the  place  I  was  to  land  wasn't  level, 
but  sloping;  and  the  third,  I  couldn't  get 
a  very  good  start  from  the  roof  we  were  on. 
But  I  couldn't  own  up  I  was  afraid  before 
folks,  so  I  up  and  says  I'd  be  tickled  to  death. 

"But  what  good  '11  that  do?"  Collins  asked. 

"Binney  '11  get  through  that  1-1-little  win- 
dow into  the  barn,"  says  Mark.  "There's 
always  rope  in  a  barn.  He'll  get  that  and 
throw  it  over  to  me.  Then  I'll  1-1-lasso  the 
dog." 

"Um,"saysjiggins.  "Good scheme.  Ought 
to  have  thought  of  it  myself.  But  I  didn't. 
Quick,  ain't  he?  Eh?  Quicker'n  a  flash." 

"Gimme  the  pole,"  says  I. 

I  went  to  the  edge  of  the  roof  and  looked 
across.  It  looked  about  a  mile,  now  that  I 
had  to  vault  it,  and  the  ground  seemed  like 
it  was  fifty-seven  feet  away.  Also  the  dog, 
seeing  we  were  fooling  around  that  edge  of 
the  roof,  strolled  around  and  was  sitting  there 
looking  up  at  me  with  an  expression  I  didn't 
like.  It  wasn't  what  you  could  call  inviting. 
199 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

I  poked  my  pole  out  to  the  ground  in  the 
middle.  It  reached  that  far,  all  right.  The 
only  question  was  whether  I  had  the  strength 
to  swing  myself  all  the  way  across.  I  saw 
I'd  have  to  take  a  run  to  do  it. 

Running  on  that  sloping,  slippery  roof 
didn't  look  much  like  I'd  have  any  luck  doing 
it.  But  Mark  saved  the  day.  I  might  have 
known  he'd  foresee  that  difficulty. 

"T-t-take  off  your  shoes,"  says  he. 

Easy,  wasn't  it?  All  you  have  to  do  is 
think  of  it,  and  there  isn't  anything  to  it  at 
all.  But  somehow  nobody  thought  of  it  but 
Mark. 

I  slipped  off  my  shoes,  measured  on  the 
pole  where  I  ought  to  grip  it,  and  went  to  the 
far  end  of  the  shed.  Mark  and  Jiggins  and 
Collins  were  looking  at  me  with  their  faces 
sort  of  set  and  their  jaws  square.  I  grinned 
at  them,  though  I  didn't  feel  much  like  grin- 
ning. 

"Here  goes,"  says  I,  and  I  ran  across  that 
roof  as  tight  as  I  could  let  it.  My  pole  landed 
good  and  solid  right  between  the  two  sheds 
and  I  swung  out  and  over.  I  could  feel  the 
pole  bending  under  me,  and  I  could  hear  the 
dog  growl  and  come  for  it,  but  I  didn't  look 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

down.  There  wasn't  time.  That  other  roof 
seemed  to  be  shooting  out  at  me,  so  I  just 
lifted  up  my  feet  and  went  bang  down  on  it. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  pole  I'd  have  slid 
off  onto  the  ground,  but  I  held  it  tight  and 
scrambled  to  my  feet.  I  was  considerable 
skinned  up,  but  it  didn't  hurt  any,  because  I 
felt  so  good  because  I'd  got  across.  I  was 
sort  of  proud  of  it.  Mark  was  standing  right 
at  the  edge  of  the  other  roof,  and  you  never 
saw  anybody  look  so  relieved.  When  he 
spoke  his  voice  was  sort  of  husky  and  he 
stuttered  like  anything. 

"B-b-b-bully  for  you,  B-Binney,"  says  he, 
and  then  stopped  sudden.  It  made  me  feel 
good,  I  can  tell  you,  to  have  him  say  that 
and  to  know  he'd  been  worried  about  me. 
When  you  know  a  fellow  like  Mark  Tidd  it 
makes  you  pretty  glad  when  you're  sure  he 
really  likes  you.  And  a  word  of  praise  from  him 
means  a  lot,  because  he  don't  praise  very  often. 

"Can  you  open  the  window?"  says  Collins, 
after  he  and  Jiggins  had  added  onto  what 
Mark  said  about  my  doing  a  good  job. 

I  tried.  It  shoved  up  easy,  and  I  threw  my 
leg  over  the  sill.  "So  long,"  I  called  to  them 
and  ducked  inside. 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

It  was  the  harness-room  I  landed  in,  all 
smelly  with  leather  and  grease,  and  sort  of 
dim  so  I  couldn't  see  very  well  to  get  around. 
I  stood  still  to  let  my  eyes  get  used  to  it, 
and  then  looked  for  a  rope.  There  didn't 
seem  to  be  any  there,  so  I  opened  the  door 
and  went  out  into  the  big  room  of  the  barn. 
Over  opposite  were  the  stalls,  and  in  one  of 
them  was  a  horse.  It  was  one  of  those  big, 
square  box-stalls,  and  that  accounts  for  the 
horse  sticking  his  nose  out  toward  me  and 
whickering.  I  like  horses.  Dogs  are  all 
right,  but  for  real  friendship  and  usefulness 
and  all-around  bullyness  give  me  a  horse.  If 
I  was  a  millionaire  I'd  have  as  many  as  Bar- 
num's  circus. 

I  couldn't  help  going  over  to  speak  to  this 
fellow.  He  whickered  again,  inviting-like, 
and  I  let  the  rope  go  awhile  till  I  could  have 
a  little  talk  with  him.  He  stretched  out  his 
nose  to  me,  and  I  patted  it.  Then  I  stopped 
and  craned  my  neck  to  look  at  his  legs,  for 
his  face  seemed  mighty  familiar.  There  was 
a  sort  of  white  triangle  on  his  nose,  and  if  he 
had  two  white  feet  that  meant  he  was  a 
.horse  I  was  interested  in  particular.  So  I 
craned  my  neck  over  like  I  said  before. 


MY    POLE    LANDED    GOOD    AND    SOLID    RIGHT    BETWEEN    THE     TWO 
SHEDS.    AND   I   SWUNG   OUT   AND   OVER 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

and,  sure  enough,  there  were  the  white 
feet. 

"Well,  Alfred,"  says  I,  pretty  nearly  flab- 
bergasted to  see  him,  "what  you  doin'  here?" 

Alfred  never  said  a  word,  but  nuzzled  at 
me  and  begged  for  a  lump  of  sugar. 

"Alfred,"  says  I,  "where's  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous  Alphabet  Bell,  and  when  d'you  expect 
him  back  here?" 

Of  course,  he  couldn't  tell  me,  but  just 
his  being  there  was  enough  to  let  on  Uncle 
Hieronymous  couldn't  be  many  miles  away. 
Uncle  wouldn't  have  left  his  horse  where  he 
couldn't  get  to  see  him  often.  He  probably 
was  boarding  Alfred  here  while  he  worked  on 
the  river. 

"Well,"  says  I  to  myself,  "what  had  I 
better  do?" 

When  you  get  in  a  place  where  you  aren't 
sure  what  to  do  next,  don't  do  anything.  I 
just  stood  there  and  patted  Alfred  and  fig- 
gered.  The  more  I  figgered  the  more  mud- 
dled I  got,  and  I  sure  did  wish  Mark  Tidd 
was  there  to  talk  it  over  with.  But  he  wasn't. 
I  had  to  depend  on  myself  this  time. 

I  thought  so  long  I  bet  those  folks  out  on 
the  hot  top  of  the  shed  thought  I'd  got  lost 

M  203 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

or  eaten  up,  but  I  wasn't  worrying  about 
them  just  then.  I  let  them  do  the  worrying. 
Anyhow,  two  of  them  were  enemies,  and  that 
made  the  unpleasantness  two  to  one.  Mark 
should  have  been  willing  to  stand  that, 
shouldn't  he?  Wouldn't  you  be  willing  to  be 
uncomfortable  if  you  could  see  two  enemies 
being  just  as  uncomfortable  alongside?  Well, 
maybe  you  wouldn't.  Likely  I  didn't  see  it 
the  same  way  Mark  did,  for  the  barn  was 
cool  and  comfortable. 

I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  what  I  ought 
to  do,  so  I  went  hunting  for  a  rope  again. 
I  found  a  good  long  one  and  slung  it  over  my 
shoulder.  Then  I  went  back  into  the  harness- 
room  after  saying  good-by  to  Alfred,  and 
scrambled  through  the  window  onto  the  roof 
of  the  shed. 

Mark  and  Jiggins  and  Collins  were  looking 
pretty  tired  out  and  impatient. 


CHAPTER  XV 

"  TT  took  a  mighty  long  time  to  find  that 

1  rope,"   says  Collins,   sort  of  cross -like. 

"It's  a  long  rope,"  I  says.  "The  longer 
the  rope  the  longer  it  takes  to  find  it.  I  could 
'a'  had  a  short  one  here  half  an  hour  ago." 

The  rope  was  in  a  coil,  which  made  it  easy 
to  throw.  I  sent  it  sailing  over  to  Mark,  who 
caught  it  and  went  to  work  making  a  lasso 
out  of  it.  He  was  as  deliberate  as  if  we  were 
sitting  on  a  shady  porch  and  not  perched 
out  there  with  the  sun  beating  down  on  our 
heads  like  it  wanted  to  melt  us  down  to 
butter. 

"Hurry  it  up,"  says  I,  "or  there  won't 
be  anything  left  of  me  to  get  down.  I'll 
melt  and  run  off." 

"When  you  go  to  make  a  1-1-lasso,"  says 
Mark,  "make  a  good  one.  It's  b-better  to 
take  a  minnit  or  two  extry  than  to  have  the 
knot  s-s-slip  and  let  the  dog  loose." 

There  was  something  to  that,  all  right — I'd 
205 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

rather  be  sunburnt  than  dog-bit.  He  got  it 
done  at  last,  but  then  he  took  his  time  making 
just  the  right-sized  noose  and  coiling  the  rope 
so  it  suited  him  to  a  tee.  When  everything 
was  fixed  so  he  was  satisfied  he  came  to  the 
end  of  the  roof  and  called  over  to  me. 

"P-p-poke  him  with  your  pole,"  says  he. 

I  knew  what  he  wanted — it  was  to  have 
the  dog  rear  up  so  he  could  toss  the  noose 
over  its  body,  and  I  got  my  pole.  The  dog 
seemed  to  be  real  interested  in  me  and  showed 
his  teeth.  When  I  shoved  the  pole  at  him 
he  just  rose  right  up  and  announced  himself, 
and  his  announcement  wasn't  friendly  to  me. 
I  jerked  back  the  pole,  and  he  stood  on  his 
hind  legs  to  reach  it.  Then  Mark  Tidd  threw 
his  lasso.  The  first  shot  he  made  it.  The 
noose  plopped  down  over  Mr.  Doggie's  fore 
legs  and  head  and  was  jerked  tight  around 
his  ribs.  You  never  saw  an  animal  look  so 
surprised  as  he  did  just  as  Mark  flopped  him 
over.  From  the  ground  he  looked  around  at 
me  sort  of  surprised  and  hurt,  as  much  as 
to  say  I  didn't  play  fair.  Well,  I  thought, 
neither  did  he.  He'd  bite,  and  I  wouldn't. 

Mark  fastened  the  rope,  and  we  all  got 
down.  I  was  glad  it  was  a  strong  rope,  for 
206 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

that  bulldog  acted  like  he'd  have  busted  one 
just  a  little  weaker.  He  did  his  best,  and  we 
couldn't  expect  any  more  of  him  than  that. 
My!  how  he  pulled  and  jerked!  We  were 
sorry  to  leave  him  fastened  up,  but  there 
wasn't  any  other  way  out  of  it,  so  we  said 
good  -  by  to  him  as  politely  as  we  could  and 
went  out  of  the  farm-yard. 

"Milk,"  says  Collins,  "and  pie.  Urn! 
Good,  weren't  they?  Let's  stop  at  every 
farm-house  we  see." 

Jiggins  and  Mark  hadn't  a  word  to  say. 

I  lagged  behind,  and  pretty  soon  Mark 
dropped  back  with  me. 

"What  d'you  think  I  found  in  that  barn?" 
I  says. 

"Rope,"  says  he.  "That's  what  you  went 
a-after." 

"I  found  somethin'  else." 

"Well,"  says  he,  "what  was  it?" 

"Alfred,"  I  says.  "Alfred  Bell!  Horse! 
Uncle  Hieronymous  Alphabet  Bell's  horse!" 

"What?"  he  says,  so  astonished  he  stopped 
still  in  his  tracks. 

"Sure's  shootin',"  I  told  him. 

"It's  all  right,  then,"  says  he.    "We  don't 
need  to  w-w- worry  any  more." 
207 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"I  should  think  we  ought  to  worry  more 
than  ever." 

"  'Course  not.  He'll  get  your  note,  prob'ly 
t-to-night.  That  '11  set  him  on  his  guard." 

"What  note?"  I  asked,  feeling  a  sort  of 
sinking  in  my  stomach. 

"Why,"  says  he,  "the  one  you  pinned  on 
the  stall  where  he'd  be  sure  to  see  it." 

Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Of  course 
that  was  what  I  should  have  done,  and  it 
would  have  ended  the  battle  right  there,  but 
I  never  thought  of  it.  It  was  so  plain  to  see, 
Mark  thought  of  course  I'd  done  it.  I  never 
was  so  ashamed  in  my  life  as  when  I  had  to 
tell  him  I  didn't. 

"Well,"  says  he,  heaving  his  fat  shoulders, 
"we  know  your  uncle's  near,  anyhow."  Then 
he  sort  of  sighed.  "Too  b-b-bad  I  can't  be 
everywhere,"  he  says,  and  that  was  all.  He 
never  spoke  another  word  of  blame.  Mark 
Tidd  never  wasted  much  time  crying  over 
spilt  milk. 

"We  got  to  escape  t-t-to-night,  sure,"  says  he. 

"Yes,"  says  I. 

"And,"  says  he,  "we  got  to  fix  it  so  we 
d-d-don't  go  far  to-day.  We  got  to  1-lay  up 
the  expedition." 

•08 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"Dun'no',"  says  he.  "We'll  wait  for  a 
streak  of  1-1-luck." 

It  was  noon  by  the  time  we  got  back  to 
the  boats,  and,  naturally,  Jiggins  and  Mark 
insisted  we  should  have  dinner  right  then 
and  there.  Nobody  objected  much.  That 
took  up  about  an  hour,  and  then  we  wasted 
another  hour  resting  and  fussing  around.  But 
Collins  insisted  on  our  getting  started  at  last. 
We  went  the  same  way  as  before — Jiggins  and 
Mark  in  the  flatboat,  and  Collins  with  me  in 
the  canoe. 

We  paddled  along,  not  saying  much,  for 
an  hour.  My  back  ached,  and  I  wished  I  was 
ashore  lying  under  a  tree.  So  did  Collins, 
by  the  look  of  him.  Nothing  happened  ex- 
cept turtles  flopping  into  the  water  off  logs, 
or  birds  flying  overhead.  The  only  noise 
was  the  flow  of  the  water,  and  we  were  so 
used  to  that  by  this  time  we  didn't  notice  it 
any  more.  It  was  like  the  tick  of  a  clock. 
Did  you  ever  sit  in  the  room  with  a  clock 
and  try  to  see  if  you  could  hear  it  tick?  Well, 
just  try  it  sometime.  Mostly  folks  are  so 
accustomed  to  the  sound  that  it  sort  of  stops 
being  a  sound  and  gets  to  be  a  part  of  one 
209 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

sound  made  up  of  a  lot  of  little  ones.  I  know 
I've  had  to  try  hard  and  put  all  my  atten- 
tion to  it  before  I  could  make  out  the  ticking. 
And  that's  the  way  it  was  with  the  river. 

The  banks  of  the  river  kept  getting  higher 
and  higher  until  we  came  to  a  bend  where  the 
river  widened  out  into  a  sort  of  pool  with  a 
backwater,  and  up  from  this  rose  a  bluff 
higher  than  anything  we'd  seen.  At  the 
foot  of  this  bluff  was  a  little  flat  of  sand  that 
drifted  down  and  stuck  there,  and  on  the 
edge  was  a  mess  of  driftwood  and  logs.  The 
most  interesting  things,  though,  were  an  old 
boat-house  and  a  tiny  shanty  that  stood  on 
the  flat.  No,  they  weren't  the  most  inter- 
esting, though  I  did  think  so  for  a  spell. 
The  really  interesting  thing  was  a  big,  fat 
woodchuck  that  was  feeding  not  twenty  feet 
from  the  boat-house  up  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 

I  yelled  at  him.  He  turned  and  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  he  was  scowling  at  us. 
Then  he  ducked  into  the  boat-house  and 
disappeared. 

"B-bet  his  hole's  in  there,"  Mark  Tidd 
yelled.  "Let's  go  ashore  and  see." 

Everybody  was  willing  to  rest,  so  we  ran 
ashore  and  drew  up  the  navy.  The  boat- 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

house  wasn't  at  the  water's  edge  like  you 
might  think,  but  stood  back  on  the  sand, 
maybe  twenty  feet  from  the  water.  It  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  washed  there  by  the  flood- 
water  in  the  spring.  The  other  shanty,  a 
little  thing  about  four  feet  square,  was  a 
fish-shanty,  Mark  said.  It  didn't  have  any 
floor  in  half  of  it.  The  other  half  was  mostly 
seat  and  sheet-iron  stove. 

"They  p-pull  it  onto  the  ice,"  says  Mark. 
"Then  they  chop  out  a  h-hole  and  sit  there 
and  spear  fish.  It's  dark  in  the  shanty,  so 
they  can  s-s-see  down  into  the  water." 

It  looked  easy.  All  the  man  who  owned 
it  had  to  do  was  sit  on  that  seat  and  wait  for 
a  fish  to  swim  past  him,  then  he  up  with  his 
spear  and  let  her  go.  I  bet  it  was  fun. 

We  went  to  the  boat-house  next,  and  there, 
sure  enough,  was  the  woodchuck's  hole.  It 
was  at  the  far  end  of  the  house  and  went 
down  at  an  angle  into  the  side  of  the  bluff. 

"Poke  him  out,"  says  Collins. 

"Nothin'  to  poke  with,"  says  Mark. 

Jiggins  came  crowding  in  to  see  what  there 
was  to  see,  and  he  said  to  go  out  and  get  a 
pole  or  something. 

"Not  much  chance,"  he  says.     "Hole  too 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

deep.  Try,  though.  Woodchuck's  good  to 
eat.  Fat." 

Mark  motioned  to  me,  and  we  both  went 
outside. 

"  B-B-Binney,"  says  Mark,  his  little  eyes 
twinkling  like  they  always  do  when  he's  ex- 
cited. "It  1-1-looks  like  we  got  'em."  My, 
how  he  stuttered! 

"How?"  says  I. 

"Watch  me  and  h-help,"  says  he. 

He  brought  a  small  log  or  a  big  pole,  I 
don't  know  which  to  call  it. 

"Git  over  by  the  door,"  he  says,  pointing 
to  the  heavy  door  of  the  boat-house  that 
stood  wide  open.  "Stand  right  there,  where 
they  c-c-can't  see  you.  When  I  whistle  you 
p-p-push  the  door  shut.  Not  slow.  Fast. 
B-b-bang  it!" 

I  saw  it  in  a  second.  He  was  planning  to 
shut  up  Jiggins  and  Collins  in  the  boat-house 
while  we  got  away.  I  did  like  he  said,  and 
braced  myself  to  slam. 

He  whistled,  I  slammed.  The  door  started 
sort  of  hard,  but  it  moved,  and  I  made  it 
move  fast.  Bang/  it  went  shut,  and  slam 
went  Mark's  leg  against  it.  That  locked 
Mr.  Door,  I  can  tell  you.  One  end  of  the  log 

212 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

was  wedged  in  the  sand  and  the  other  forced 
against  the  door.  It  would  have  taken  an 
elephant  to  move  it.  But  Mark  wasn't  satis- 
fied. He  propped  it  shut  with  two  more  logs 
and  then  dragged  a  shorter  and  thicker  piece 
right  in  front.  The  door  was  pretty  nearly 
covered  up  before  we  were  through. 

Mark  straightened  up  and  grinned  then. 
"Hello,  inside,"  says  he. 

"What's  this?  Let  us  out!  Quick!"  says 
Jiggins. 

"C-c-couldn't  do  it  p-possibly,"  says  Mark. 
"Have  to  dig  out,  I  guess.  'Twon't  take 
1-long.  G-g-good-by." 

They  began  to  holler  like  anything,  but 
we  didn't  stop.  At  the  boats  Mark  told 
me  to  push  off  the  canoe  while  he  tended  to 
the  flatboat.  He  tended  to  it,  all  right — 
with  a  big  stone. 

He  didn't  have  to  drop  that  stone  on  the 
bottom  of  the  boat  but  once.  Two  planks 
busted. 

Mark  climbed  into  the  canoe  with  me,  and 
we  dug  in  our  paddles. 

"H-h-hurry,"  says  he;  but  he  didn't  need 
to  tell  me.  I  was  hurrying  as  hard  as  I  could. 
I  wanted  to  get  as  much  distance  between 
213 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Jiggins  &  Co.  and  us  as  possible.  They  were 
nice  men,  but  I  didn't  want  any  more  of  their 
company  till  we'd  had  a  little  chat  with  Uncle 
Hieronymous. 

For  the  first  time  I  had  a  chance  to  draw 
a  breath  and  do  a  little  thinking.  Then  it 
began  to  dawn  on  me  what  Mark  had  done. 
All  in  a  second  he'd  seen  his  chance,  and  just 
as  quick  he  took  advantage  of  it.  I  would 
hare  sat  around  that  boat-house  all  day  with- 
out scheming  to  shut  up  the  enemy  in  it,  but 
not  Mark.  It  didn't  matter  what  he  saw, 
he  always  tried  to  fit  it  into  his  plans.  I  sup- 
pose he  began  studying  about  that  boat-house 
as  soon  as  it  came  into  sight,  and  by  the 
time  we  landed  his  plan  was  all  ready. 

Wasn't  it  easy,  though?  All  he  had  to  do 
was  get  Jiggins  and  Collins  in  there  alone. 
That  was  all.  It  doesn't  look  very  hard,  and 
it  didn't  seem  to  be  hard.  But  the  brainy 
part  was  thinking  it  up  in  a  second  and  work- 
ing it  when  there  wasn't  a  chance  in  the 
world  the  enemy  would  be  expecting  any- 
thing. 

Take  Marcus  Aurelius  Fortunatus  Tidd  by 
and  large,  and  it  looks  to  me  like  he  was  con- 
siderable of  a  general. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FROM  now  on  so  many  things  happened, 
one  right  onto  the  heels  of  the  other, 
that  it's  a  little  confusing  to  remember  them 
all  and  get  them  in  the  right  places.  It 
doesn't  seem  as  if  I  stopped  to  breathe  for 
about  a  month.  Only,  the  whole  thing  was 
over  in  a  night  and  less  than  a  day.  But  it 
was  a  night  and  a  day  a  fellow  couldn't  forget 
if  he  lived  'to  be  a  million  years  old. 

That  first  thing  that  happened  was  the 
noise.  Mark  and  I  had  been  paddling  about 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  when  we  heard  it 
first. 

"Bridge  ahead,"  I  says.  "Hear  that  rig 
goin'  across?" 

Mark  didn't  say  anything,  but  I  could  see, 
by  the  way  he  tipped  his  head  to  one  side, 
he  was  listening  careful.  We  paddled  on  for 
ten  minutes,  and  the  noise  came  again.  It 
was  a  sort  of  mix-up  of  rattle  and  rumble  and 
roar.  It  sounded  to  me  like  a  team  crossing 
215 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

a  bridge,  but,  after  all,  it  didn't  sound  quite 
like  it. 

"'Tain't  a  b-b-bridge,"  says  Mark. 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"Dun'noV  says  he. 

Pretty  soon  it  went  off  again.  Rattle, 
rattle,  rumble,  rumble,  clatter,  clatter,  with 
a  sort  of  squeal  twisted  in  for  good  measure. 

"S-some  kind  of  a  machine,"  says  Mark. 

It  kept  coming  every  little  while,  some- 
times as  much  as  twenty  minutes  apart,  and 
growing  louder  every  time  it  came. 

"S-sounds  like  a  machine,"  says  Mark. 

That's  what  it  was,  but,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  it  was  a  funny  sort  of  a  machine, 
and  funny  things  were  being  done  with  it. 
About  half  past  four  we  came  slap  onto  it. 
It  was  a  big  scow  more  than  fifty  feet  long 
and  twenty  or  so  wide.  A  flat,  square  house 
covered  about  two-thirds  of  it,  and  a  whop- 
ping big  derrick  stuck  up  near  the  front  end. 
There  was  a  smoke-stack,  so  we  knew  there 
must  be  an  engine.  We'd  have  found  that 
out  pretty  quick,  anyhow,  because  it  was 
hissing  and  fussing  and  spluttering  away,  and 
steam  was  spurting  out  of  the  side  every 
little  while. 

216 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

A  big  cable  stretched  from  the  boom  of  the 
derrick  up-stream,  and  the  end  of  it  was 
hitched  to  two  of  the  biggest  timbers  I  ever 
saw.  They  were  hewn  square,  and  each  of 
them  must  have  been  sixty  feet  long.  They 
were  fastened  side  by  side  into  a  raft  that 
would  have  floated  an  elephant.  There  were 
two  men  on  it.  I  didn't  pay  special  attention 
to  them,  because  I  was  so  interested  in  the 
raft,  but  Mark  did.  I  heard  him  let  his  breath 
go  in  the  whoppingest  sigh  of  relief  a  man 
ever  heaved. 

"We've  d-d-done  it,"  says  he. 

"What?"  says  I. 

"Won,"  says  he.  "We've  f-f-found  your 
uncle.  There's  Ole  and  Jerry." 

I  almost  tipped  over  the  canoe,  I  turned 
so  quick  to  look.  Sure  enough,  there  were 
Ole  and  Jerry  working  like  big  beavers.  One 
was  at  one  end  of  the  raft,  and  the  other  was 
at  the  other  end.  They  had  big  pike-poles 
and  were  pushing  the  contraption  up-stream. 
It  wasn't  any  easy  job,  either.  When  we 
saw  them  first  they  were  about  a  hundred 
feet  away  from  the  scow.  They  poled  as 
far  as  they  could  without  turning  the  bend, 
and  then  went  ashore  and  fastened  their 
217 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

raft  to  a  tree  with  chains.  When  that  was 
done  Ole  waved  his  hand  to  the  engineer, 
and  right  there  the  queerest  piece  of  traveling 
I  ever  saw  was  done.  I  don't  see  how  any- 
body ever  thought  it  up.  The  engineer 
started  his  engine  and  began  winding  in  the 
cable.  Of  course,  because  the  far  end  of  it 
was  fast,  that  pulled  the  scow  ahead.  That 
wasn't  so  outlandish,  though.  It  was  the 
steering!  Would  you  believe  it,  but  that 
engineer  steered  up-stream  with  the  boom  of 
the  derrick.  He'd  swing  that  back  and  forth, 
all  the  time  reeling  in,  and  by  moving  the 
spot  where  the  strain  came  first  to  one  side 
and  then  to  the  other  he  steered  as  straight 
as  you  please.  If  the  big  scow  started  to  veer 
over  to  the  left  the  engineer  would  throw  the 
boom  way  over  to  the  right,  and  the  pull  of 
the  cable  would  straighten  her  up.  I  never 
saw  Mark  look  more  tickled  with  anything 
in  his  life.  He  actually  looked  jealous.  I 
knew  what  he  was  thinking — it  was  a  big 
wish  that  he'd  been  the  fellow  to  think  up  that 
scheme. 

Neither  Mark  nor  I  said  a  word  to  Ole 
and  Jerry  till  the  scow  had  eaten  up  all  its 
cable  again.     It  reminded  you  of  a  spider. 
218 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

You've  seen  a  spider  going  up,  up  to  the 
ceiling  by  eating  its  own  thread.  But  when 
the  boat  stopped  we  both  yelled  at  once. 

Ole  and  Jerry  straightened  up,  rested  their 
pike-poles  on  the  bottom,  and  stared  at  us 
out  of  big,  round,  surprised  blue  eyes.  They 
didn't  say  a  word.  We  paddled  over. 

"Where's  Uncle  Hieronymous?"  I  asked, 
so  excited  I  couldn't  sit  still. 

Ole  looked  at  Jerry,  and  Jerry  looked  at 
Ole.  Then  both  of  them  looked  at  us.  Pretty 
soon  Ole  spoke. 

"Py  Jimminy!"  says  he  to  Jerry. 

Jerry  wagged  his  head  and  grinned  at 
Mark.  "She  bane  that  fat  boy,"  he  says. 

"  Yass,"  says  Ole.  "She  bane  him."  Then 
they  both  threw  back  their  heads  and  laughed 
so  loud  they  must  have  frightened  birds  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

"Where's  Uncle  Hieronymous?"  I  asked 
again. 

They  didn't  pay  a  bit  of  attention  to 
me,  but  kept  on  looking  at  us  and  at  each 
other. 

"They  come  in  a  leetle  boat,"  says  Ole. 

"Yass,  in  leetle  boat." 

"Down  the  river,"  says  Ole. 

15  2I9 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Sure.  She  bane  come  down  dat  river. 
Two  poy.  Py  Jimminy!" 

"Where's  Uncle  Hieronymous?"  I  asked 
again,  getting  sort  of  mad.  Nobody  likes  to 
ask  questions  and  get  no  attention  paid  them. 
But  Ole  and  Jerry  seemed  to  think  it  was 
so  funny  we  should  come  down  the  river  in  a 
little  boat  they  didn't  have  much  time  to 
give  answers.  After  a  while  they  did  answer, 
though. 

"Hieronymous?"  says  Ole.  "Oh,  yass.  He 
bane  work  here." 

Jerry  bobbed  his  head.  "Sure.  He  work 
here." 

"Is  he  on  that  scow?"  I  suppose  we 
might  have  saved  a  lot  of  time  by  going  there 
to  see,  but  we  didn't. 

"Scow?"  Jerry  had  to  scratch  his  head 
over  that.  Ole  scratched  his  head,  too,  and 
then  they  looked  at  each  other  and  grinned 
as  foolish  as  a  couple  of  babies. 

"Dey  came  for  see  Hieronymous,"  says 
Ole;  and  then  he  had  to  laugh  again  like 
there  was  a  funny  joke. 

"Ay  tank  so,"  says  Jerry.  "Ay  tank  dey 
want  for  see  him." 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "we  do.    Is  he  there?" 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

' '  He  work  here, ' '  says  Ole.  ' '  He  come  with 
us  here." 

"Yass,"  says  Jerry. 

"But,"  says  Ole,  and  then  he  had  to  stop 
to  laugh  again,  "he  bane  gone  off  now." 

"Yass,"  says  Jerry,   "he  bane  gone  off." 

I  suppose  that's  what  they  thought  was 
so  comical. 

Well,  sir,  that  took  us  right  between  wind 
and  water,  as  the  old  privateering  stories 
say.  We  thought  the  fight  was  over  and  we'd 
won,  and  here,  when  there  didn't  seem  to  be 
another  thing  to  do,  Uncle  Hieronymous  had 
up  and  gone  away.  I  crumpled  up  in  the 
boat  and  felt  like  crying. 

"  Wh-where  did  he  go?"  Mark  asked.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken. 

"Go?    He  go  dis  mornin',"  says  Ole. 

"Nine-ten  o'clock,"  says  Jerry. 

"But  where?    Where  d-d-did  he  go?" 

"  Oh-ho !"  says  Jerry.  ' '  Haw-haw !  Listen, 
Ole.  You  hear  dat?" 

"Haw-haw!"  says  Ole.  "I  hear.  She  bane 
talk  funny,  eh?" 

"Talk  some  more  again,"  says  Jerry. 

Mark  was  red  as  a  beet,  and  I  expected  to 
hear  him  tear  right  into  them  and  tell  them 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

what  for,  but  he  didn't.  I  guess  he  knew  they 
didn't  mean  any  harm  and  weren't  even  try- 
ing to  be  rude.  They  were  just  interested. 

"Do  you  know  wh-wh- where  he  went?" 
Mark  asked  again. 

"Ludington,"  says  Ole. 

"Yass,"  says  Jerry,  "  Ludington." 

"When  is  he  coming  back?"  I  wanted  to 
know. 

"Oh,  two-free  day,"  says  Ole. 

"Maybe  t'ree-four,"  says  Jerry. 

"He  go  wid  day  boss,"  says  Ole. 

"Yass,"  says  Jerry,  "wid  day  boss." 

There  wasn't  any  use  trying  to  get  any- 
thing out  of  those  Swedes,  so  we  let  go  and 
paddled  down  to  the  scow  to  see  if  the  engi- 
neer wasn't  more  likely  to  be  useful.  He  was 
a  short  man  with  spectacles  and  not  much 
hair.  It  was  a  habit  of  his  to  keep  his  head 
on  one  side  and  look  at  you  over  the  rims  of 
his  spectacles  in  the  mournfulest  way  you 
can  imagine.  He  was  mournful  all  over; 
every  line  there  was  in  his  face  sort  of  drooped, 
especially  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  which 
looked  like  there  was  danger  of  their  slipping 
some  day  and  going  slam!  off  his  jaw.  He 
looked  like  an  owl  that  had  its  feelings  hurt. 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

He  was  leaning  against  the  door  of  the 
engine-room  when  we  came  alongside,  looking 
down  at  us  as  if  he  thought  maybe  he'd  have 
to  cry  pretty  soon. 

"G-g-good  afternoon,"  says  Mark. 

The  engineer  walked  to  the  side  of  the 
boat,  working  his  lower  jaw  like  he  was 
chewing  something,  which  he  wasn't  at  all. 
He  stood  a  minnit  without  saying  a  word, 
then,  in  the  dolefulest  voice  you  ever  heard, 
he  says: 

"If  I  was  to  git  into  that  pesky  boat  it 
'u'd  be  jest  my  luck  to  git  tipped  over." 

We  never  got  to  know  him  very  well,  but 
in  the  little  time  we  were  with  him  we  found 
out  that  was  just  the  way  he  looked  at  things. 
So  far  as  we  found  out  he  never  had  any- 
thing very  awful  happen  to  him,  but  he 
didn't  have  any  faith  in  his  luck,  and  he  was 
certain-sure  the  next  thing  he  did  was  going 
to  turn  out  bad. 

"We  want  to  know  about  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous,"  I  says. 

"Who    be    you?"    he    asked.      "I    don't 
calc'late  to  spread  news  about  anybody  until 
I  find  out  who  I'm  tellin'.    You  might  mean 
some  harm  to  Hieronymous." 
223 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"He's  my  uncle,"  I  says.  "We  boys  are 
staying  at  his  house  for  the  summer." 

He  drew  down  his  mouth  till  it  was  near  a 
foot  long.  "Well,"  says  he,  "why  don't  you 
stay  there,  then,  instid  of  gallivantin'  around 
the  country  in  a  boat  that  hain't  much  short 
of  bein'  murderous?" 

"Because,"  says  Mark,  "we  g-g-got  to 
see  him  special  and  important." 

"Anythin'  unfort'nate  happened  him?" 
asked  the  engineer,  leaning  over  the  edge  of 
the  scow.  It  looked  like  misfortunes  were 
a  regular  specialty  of  his. 

"No,"  says  Mark,  "but  somethin's  goin' 
to  if  we  don't  find  him  p-p-pretty  quick." 

"You  don't  tell,"  says  the  engineer,  and 
he  come  close  to  smiling. 

"Ole  says  he's  gone  to  Ludington,"  I  says. 

"That's  where  he's  gone,  and  I  hope 
nothin'  unfort'nate  comes  of  it.  I  didn't 
noways  like  the  look  of  that  hoss  the  boss 
drove." 

"Well,"  says  Mark,  "we  g-g-got  to  git  to 
Ludington  fast.  What's  the  quickest  way?" 

"There  hain't  none,"  says  the  engineer. 
"It  '11  take  you  a  day  by  river,  pervidin' 
you  don't  git  tipped  over  and  drownded. 
224 


MARK   TIDD   IN  THE   BACKWOODS 

It's  two  miles  to  Scottville  and  eight  from 
there  to  Ludington,  by  land,  and  you  hain't 
got  no  hoss.  Them's  the  two  ways,  and 
neither  of  'em  the  quickest." 

"Isn't  there  a  train  from  Scottville  to  Lud- 
ington?" 

"Yes,"  says  he,  "but  I  wouldn't  risk  my 
neck  on  it.  Not  never.  I  wouldn't  git  onto 
that  train  of  cars  no  more'n  I'd  git  into  one 
of  these  here  autymobiles." 

"Can  we  come  aboard?"  I  says,  after  a 
minnit.  "It's  pretty  cramped  down  here, 
and  I'd  like  to  sit  on  somethin'  comfortable 
a  few  minnit s." 

"Yes,"  says  Mark,  "and  we  wouldn't 
git  m-m-mad  at  you  if  you  offered  us  some- 
thin'  to  eat." 

"Come  ahead,"  says  the  engineer,  "but 
be  careful.  I  can't  swim,  so  don't  go  de- 
pendin'  on  me  to  haul  you  out  if  you  fall  in." 

We  scrambled  aboard  and  sat  down  in  a 
couple  of  rickety  kitchen  chairs.  The  en- 
gineer watched  us  awhile,  chewing  away  at 
nothing,  and  then,  wrinkling  up  his  face, 
says: 

"What  might  your  names  be?  I  don't 
rec'lect  hearin'  'em." 

225 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"My  name's  M-M-Mark  Tidd,  and  his  is 
Binney  Jenks." 

"Huh!  Mark  Tidd!  That  hain't  no  kind 
of  a  name.  It's  jest  a  sort  of  a  snort.  There 
hain't  enough  of  it." 

"Well,"  says  I,  "his  whole  name  is  Mar- 
cus Aurelius  Fortunatus  Tidd.  I  calc'late 
that's  plenty  long." 

"Sam  Hill!"  says  the  engineer.  "Sam 
Hill!  Who  ever  heard  the  like!  Honest,  is 
that  his  name?" 

"Honest  Injun." 

"It  'u'd  make  me  nervous.  It's  the  kind 
of  a  name  you  see  in  the  papers.  Somehow 
it  brings  to  mind  pieces  in  the  newspapers 
about  train- wrecks  or  trouble  or  somethin'. 
No,  sir,  I  wouldn't  think  it  was  safe  to  have 
a  name  like  that." 

"What  kind  of  a  name  do  you  1-1-like?" 
Mark  asked. 

"There's  my  own.  It  hain't  a  lucky  name, 
so  to  speak,  but  it  hain't  never  been  no 
detriment.  My  name,"  says  he,  "is  Wed- 
nesday Hogtoter." 

I  most  tumbled  off  my  chair.  "What?" 
I  says,  not  believing  my  ears. 

"Wednesday  Hogtoter,"  he  repeated. 
226 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Hogtoter,  bein'  my  father's  name,  become 
mine  natural-like.  Wednesday  was  the  day 
my  father  up  and  took  a  prize  to  the  state 
fair  for  raisin'  the  biggest  potaters  in  the 
state.  He  deemed  that  day  consid'able  of  a 
day,  so  he  give  it  to  me  for  a  name." 

Mark  Tidd  was  sniffing.  I  knew  what 
that  meant — something  to  eat.  WTien  I 
came  to  sniff  a  little  myself  I  noticed  coffee. 
My,  but  it  smelled  good!  There  was  other 
things  in  the  air,  like  bacon,  and  I  thought 
I  could  pick  out  the  odor  of  hot  bis- 
cuits. 

Mark  looked  at  his  watch. 

"What  time  is  it?"  I  asked. 

He  didn't  answer  me,  but  asked  a  question 
of  Mr.  Hogtoter.  "What  t-t-time  d'you  eat?" 
he  says. 

"Half  past  five,"  says  Mr.  Hogtoter. 

Mark  sighed.  "Twenty  minutes  yet," 
he  says,  and  sank  back,  looking  gloomier 
than  all-git-out. 

"Can  we  look  at  the  engine?"  I  asked  Mr. 
Hogtoter. 

He  allowed  we  could,  so  we  went  in  the 
engine-room,  but  there  wasn't  much  to  see. 
We  came  out  again  in  a  minnit  to  watch  Mr. 
227 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Hogtoter  steer  the  scow  up-stream  again 
with  the  boom. 

At  last  the  cook  came  out  and  hollered, 
"Grub -pile!"  which  meant  it  was  supper- 
time.  Ole  and  Jerry  came  on  the  run,  and 
Mark  and  I  didn't  wait  for  a  written  in- 
vitation. It's  lucky  they  had  lots  to  eat  on 
board,  or  somebody  would  have  come  out 
at  the  little  end  of  the  horn.  I  ate  and  ate, 
and  Mark  ate  and  ate  and  ate.  He  was  still 
going  it  when  the  rest  were  through. 

The  cook  shook  his  head.  "Wouldn't 
board  you  permanent,  young  feller,  for  twice 
my  wages,"  says  he.  "Is  this  the  first  time 
you've  et  this  year?" 

Mark  just  grinned.  He  was  full  now,  and 
that  made  him  feel  good.  He  never  cared 
much,  anyhow,  when  folks  made  fun  of  his 
appetite. 

We  settled  back  in  our  chairs;  and  I  was 
just  getting  ready  to  ask  more  about  the  way 
to  Ludington  when  somebody  hollered  out- 
side. I  knew  that  voice  in  a  minnit.  It  was 
Jiggins. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FOR  a  minnit  I  was  scared,  and  even  Mark 
Tidd  looked  kind  of  blue  around  the 
gills,  as  dad  says.  But  then  I  thought  Ole 
and  Jerry  and  Mr.  Hogtoter  wouldn't  let 
Collins  and  Jiggins  take  us  off  the  scow,  so 
I  quit  being  frightened. 

Ole  got  up  and  poked  his  head  out  of  the 
door. 

"Hello!"  says  Jiggins  again.  "Seen  a 
couple  of  boys  in  a  canoe?" 

Ole  turned  around  to  us  and  grinned,  then 
he  called  to  Jiggins,  "Ay  tank  so." 

"How  long  ago?" 

"Ay  tank  one  hour." 

Then  I  heard  Collins  say  something  in  an 
undertone. 

"Good  idea,"  says  Jiggins.  "Do  no  harm. 
May  do  some  good.  I'll  ask  him."  Then  he 
called  up  to  Ole:  "D'you  know  Mr.  Bell— 
Hieronymous  Alphabet  Bell?" 

"Ay  tank  ay  know  him,"  says  Ole. 
229 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Know  where  he  is?"  asked  Jiggins. 

Mark  jumped  to  his  feet.  "Don't—"  he 
started  to  say  to  Ole. 

But  for  once  the  big  Swede  answered  right 
off  without  any  fooling.  "He  bane  go  to 
Ludington." 

"When?" 

"Nine-ten  o'clock." 

Mark  was  banging  Ole  on  the  back.  ' '  Don't 
tell  him  any  m-m-more,"  says  he.  "They're 
enemies.  They're  t-t-tryin'  to  smouge  Uncle 
Hieronymous's  mine."  Then  he  ran  right 
out  on  deck. 

"G-g-go  on  away,"  says  he.  "You  can't 
f-find  out  any  more.  You're  b-beat!" 

"Well,  I  swan!"  says  Jiggins.  "Howdy, 
Mark.  Hard  work  gettin*  out  of  that  boat- 
house.  Had  to  find  another  boat.  But  here 
we  are." 

Sure  enough,  they  did  have  another  boat. 
They  must  have  found  it  somewhere  along 
the  river  near  the  boat-house. 

Jiggins  didn't  seem  to  be  much  discour- 
aged. "Well,"  says  he,  "we  enjoyed  your 
company.  Sure  we  did.  Nice  boy.  Brains. 
Always  liked  boys  with  brains — especially 
fat  boys.  Good-by.  Ludington,  eh?  He's 
230 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

in  Ludington.  Well,  Mark  Tidd,  we're  off 
for  Ludington.  Beat,  eh?  Not  yet.  Not 
yet."  They  pushed  off  their  boat  and  start- 
ed down-stream.  "Good -by,"  says  Jiggins 
again.  "I'll  give  your  regards  to  Uncle 
Hieronymous.  Good-by." 

Mark  didn't  wait  a  minnit.  "G-g-got  to 
beat  'em  to  Ludington,"  says  he.  "No  time 
to  waste."  He  thought  a  minnit.  "When 
does  the  t-t-train  leave  Scott ville?" 

"Long  about  nine  o'clock,"  says  Mr.  Hog- 
toter. 

"Howfar'sScottville?" 

"Two  mile." 

"H-h-how  do  we  get  there?" 

"Walk,"  says  Mr.  Hogtoter.  "There's  a 
road  back  there  a  spell."  He  jerked  his 
thumb  up  the  bank.  "But  they'll  beat  you. 
You'll  git  lost  or  somethin'." 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"Half  past  six." 

Mark  thought  and  pinched  his  cheek. 
"That  g-gives  us  two  hours  and  a  half,"  says 
he.  "Come  on,  Binney.  Will  s-s-somebody 
show  us  the  road?" 

"Ay  tank  ay  show  you,"  says  Ole. 

"Ay  tank  ay  show  you,  too,"  says  Jerry. 
231 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"  Come  on,  then,"  Mark  says,  quick.  "We 
can't  1-lose  any  time." 

We  said  good-by  to  Mr.  Hogtoter,  and  I 
told  him  I  hoped  he  wouldn't  have  any  bad 
luck.  He  said  he  was  expecting  some  every 
minnit,  and  he  said,  too,  he  was  sure  we 
were  in  for  some. 

"Be  careful,"  says  he.  "Not  that  bein' 
careful  is  any  good.  If  you're  goin'  to  have 
misfortune,  takin*  care  don't  help  a  bit. 
Never  helped  me.  Looks  to  me  like  Hierony- 
mous  was  in  for  misfortune." 

We  climbed  the  bank  with  Ole  and  Jerry, 
and,  not  having  either  time  or  breath  to  say 
anything,  we  made  off  across  the  fields  toward 
the  road  without  any  talk.  It  was  maybe  a 
quarter  of  a  mile. 

"You  find  Scottville  now,  ay  tank,"  says  Ole. 

"Sure,"  says  Jerry,  "ay  tank  so,  too." 

"Good-by,"  says  Mark,  "and  m-much 
obliged." 

"Good-by,"  says  Ole  and  Jerry,  and  then 
we  were  off  alone.  Once  I  looked  back.  They 
were  still  standing  where  we  left  them,  laugh- 
ing as  hard  as  they  could  laugh.  There  isn't 
a  bit  of  doubt  they  thought  Mark  Tidd  was 
the  funniest  person  they  ever  saw. 
232 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

We  walked  as  fast  as  we  could,  and  got  to 
Scottville  in  plenty  of  time.  Mark  bought 
the  tickets,  because  he  had  the  money.  We 
had  elected  him  treasurer,  so  he  had  all  there 
was.  Then  we  sat  down  on  the  depot  plat- 
form to  wait  for  the  train.  It  was  getting 
dusk,  which  turned  out  to  be  a  pretty  lucky 
thing  for  us.  It  was  lucky,  too,  that  we  were 
sitting  near  a  corner  of  the  depot.  In  spite  of 
Mr.  Hogtoter  we  were  having  good  luck  for 
a  while,  anyhow. 

Just  as  the  train  whistled  down  the  track 
somebody  came  through  the  depot  door.  It 
was  Jiggins.  Collins  was  right  at  his  heels. 
They  turned  to  look  down  the  track  in  the 
direction  away  from  us,  and  right  there  I 
gave  Mark  Tidd  the  hardest  shove  he  ever 
got.  It  toppled  him  off  the  bench.  I  jumped 
over  him  and  around  the  corner.  Right  off 
he  knew  something  was  up,  so  he  scrambled 
after  me. 

"Collins  and  Jiggins,"  says  I. 

"  No  n-n-need  to  bust  my  neck,"  says  Mark. 

"How'd  they  git  here?" 

"  Walked,  most  likely.  Asked  s-s-somebody 
how  to  get  to  Ludington." 

"How  do  we  git  there  now?" 
233 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Mark  looked  at  me  disgusted.  "On  the 
t-train,  of  course." 

"But  they'll  see  us." 

"M-m-maybe  not,"  says  he.  "Anyhow, 
we  got  to  take  the  chance." 

The  train  came  banging  in  in  a  few  minnits. 
We  watched  Jiggins  and  Collins  get  aboard 
and  took  particular  pains  to  see  what  car 
they  sat  in.  It  was  the  forward  coach. 

"Come  on,"  says  Mark. 

He  went  to  the  last  coach  and  climbed  on. 
So  did  I.  We  walked  right  through  and  stood 
on  the  back  platform. 

"If  the  conductor  '11  1-1-let  us  stay  here," 
says  Mark,  "we'll  be  all  right." 

The  train  started  up.  Eight  miles  to  go! 
That  wasn't  far.  Even  on  that  railroad  it 
oughtn't  to  take  more  than  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  But  even  a  quarter  of  an  hour  on  the 
same  train  with  Collins  and  Jiggins  was  too 
long.  Jiggins  was  an  uncertain  person.  You 
never  could  depend  on  him  to  stay  in  his 
seat.  He  might  take  a  notion  any  time  to 
come  wandering  around  the  train,  and  then, 
like  as  not,  he'd  find  us. 

"What '11  we  do  if  they  .come  onto  us?" 
I  asked  him. 

234 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Dun'no',"  says  he.     "Nothin',  I  guess." 

After  a  while  we  saw  the  conductor  coining 
through  the  car.  I  put  my  head  in  the  door 
and  held  out  our  tickets.  He  frowned  at 
us,  and  I  thought  he  was  going  to  make  us 
come  inside,  but  all  he  did  was  say  to  be 
careful.  We  allowed  we'd  do  that. 

I  looked  at  my  watch  and  saw  five  minnits 
were  gone  by.  That  was  a  third  of  the  ride. 
The  air  was  full  of  dust  and  grit  and  smoke, 
but  through  it  all  we  could  feel  the  coolness 
of  Lake  Michigan.  I  never  had  seen  Lake 
Michigan  or  any  other  big  lake,  and  I  was 
anxious  to.  Mark  said  it  would  look  just 
like  the  ocean.  Anyhow,  it  sent  a  dandy  soft 
coolness  back  into  the  country,  and  we  were 
much  obliged. 

Another  five  minnits  went  past,  and  then 
we  began  to  see  lights  every  little  while. 

"Must  be  g-gettin'  near,"  says  Mark. 

Pretty  soon  we  could  stretch  our  necks 
around  the  corner  of  the  car  and  see  lots  of 
lights  ahead,  some  of  them  up  in  the  air. 
We  knew  these  were  street -lights  and  that 
we  were  getting  into  Ludington.  Then  we 
passed  some  factory  buildings  and  began  to 
pat  ourselves  on  the  back  that  we  were  there 

16  235 


MARK  TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

safe.      The   train   slackened   down   until   it 
wasn't  going  very  fast. 

"We're  here,"  says  I  to  Mark. 

"I  see  you  are,"  says  somebody,  and  I 
turned  quick  to  look.  It  was  Jiggins  grinning 
at  us  out  of  the  door. 

"Howdy?"  says  he.  "Lucky  I  came  back 
here,  eh?  To  be  sure.  Didn't  think  I'd  see 
you  again." 

I  looked  at  Mark.  He  didn't  wait  for 
another  word,  but  just  stepped  down  onto 
the  lowest  step  of  the  car  and  jumped  off 
into  the  dark.  Jiggins  sort  of  jumped  past 
me  and  made  a  grab  after  him,  and  then, 
not  knowing  anything  better  to  do  myself, 
I  jumped  off  the  train  on  the  other  side  and 
struck  the  sand  of  the  right  of  way.  For  a 
few  seconds  I  was  so  busy  twisting  head  over 
heels  and  banging  and  scraping  myself  that 
I  didn't  have  any  time  to  think  about  any- 
body else.  I  landed  with  a  bump.  For  a 
minnit  I  laid  there  without  being  able  to 
make  up  my  mind  how  fatally  I  was  hurt, 
but  I  found  out  I  could  move  every  one  of 
my  arms  and  legs  and  that  nothing  was  the 
matter  with  me  at  all.  Then  I  got  up  to 
look  for  Mark. 

236 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

I  found  him  about  fifty  feet  back,  sitting 
flat  on  the  ground,  with  his  legs  stretched  out 
in  front  of  him.  I  expect  he  landed  that  way. 
If  he  did  it  wasn't  any  fun,  and  it  was  pretty 
lucky  nobody  happened  to  be  resting  where 
he  struck.  If  there  had  been  we'd  'a'  had 
to  dig  him  out  of  the  ground,  Mark  would 
have  driven  him  in  so  deep. 

"Good  evenin',"  says  I,  make-believe  polite. 

"Umph!"  says  he,  and  waggled  his  head. 

"Git  up,"  says  I.  "They'll  be  comin'  in  a 
second." 

He  groaned  again  and  got  onto  his  feet. 
I  took  him  by  the  arm  and  dragged  him  off 
the  right  of  way  into  the  dark.  Not  far  away 
we  found  a  street  and  started  up  it,  hoping 
it  would  bring  us  out  some  place  we  wanted 
to  be. 

"Now,"  says  Mark,  "to  f-f-find  Uncle 
Hieronymous." 

That  was  more  difficult  than  we  had  any 
idea  of. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THERE  we  were  in  a  town  we  never  saw 
before,  with  no  place  to  go  and  no  idea 
what  to  do  next.     Ludington  seemed  to  us 
like  a  pretty  big  town  after  Wicksville,  but 
we  didn't  let  that  frighten  us. 

"What  '11  we  do  now?"  I  asked. 

"I'm  g-g-goin'  to  git  the  gravel  out  of  my 
ears,"  says  Mark.  "You  can  do  whatever 
you  want  to." 

That  was  a  pretty  good  idea.  The  gravel 
I  got  wasn't  in  my  ears;  mostly  it  was  down 
my  neck.  I  was  full  of  it.  I  don't  suppose 
the  railroad  company  ever  missed  what  I 
took  away,  and  I  didn't  see  any  reason  why 
I  should  carry  it  back,  so  I  left  a  nice  little 
pile  of  it  on  the  sidewalk. 

"Wish  I  could  wash  up,"  says  Mark. 

"And  I,"  I  says,  cross-like,  "wish  you'd 
quit  thinkin'  about  how  uncomfortable  you 
are  and  start  to  thinkin'  about  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous." 

238 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Binney,"  says  he,  "d-d-don't  get  het  up. 
Think  a  minnit.  Jiggins  and  Collins  never 
saw  Uncle  Hieronymous,  did  they?  Then 
they  wouldn't  know  him  if  they  met  him. 
And  they  d-don't  know  where  to  look. 
They'll  never  find  him  to-night.  There  hain't 
such  an  awful  hurry  that  I  c-c-can't  get  the 
gravel  out  of  my  hair." 

"I'll  bet  they're  lookin'  for  him  right  now." 

Mark  sighed.  "There  hain't  any  use  in  it," 
says  he,  "but  I  s'pose  I  g-g-got  to  humor  you. 
Come  on." 

We  went  straight  ahead  till  we  came  to 
a  wide  street  with  electric  lights  on  it.  Down 
to  the  right  you  could  see  stores  and  business 
buildings,  so  we  turned  that  way,  and  a 
walk  of  three  or  four  blocks  took  us  down- 
town. 

"Now,"  says  Mark,  "where  do  we  b-b-be- 
gin  lookin'  for  him?" 

"Hotel,"  says  I,  pointing  across  the  street 
to  one. 

Mark  looked.  "No  use  askin'  there,"  he 
says.  "Uncle  Hieronymous  wouldn't  stay 
there." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Two  reasons,"  says  he.  "In  the  f-f-first 
239 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

place,  he  wouldn't  take  any  comfort  eatin* 
his  meals  there,  and,  in  the  s-second  place,  it 
costs  too  much.  Uncle  Hieronymous  wouldn't 
eat  in  any  b-big  dinin'-room  with  f-f-fifty 
folks  lookin'  on." 

"What  kind  of  a  place  would  he  stop  at?" 

"Either  a  boardin' -house  or  a  leetle  f-f- 
farmer's  hotel.  I  b-bet  there's  an  old  hotel 
here  s-s-somewheres  where  he  would  f-feel  to 
home,  one  where  there  hain't  much  s-s-style." 

"Well,"  says  I,  "s'pose  we  find  out." 

We  wandered  around  and  found  a  couple 
of  hotels  that  didn't  look  too  fine.  In  both 
of  them  we  asked  for  Uncle  Hieronymous,  and 
both  times  the  man  behind  the  counter  grinned 
when  we  mentioned  the  name. 

"Say,"  says  the  last  one,  "what's  that  feller 
been  doin'?  Lots  of  folks  lookin'  for  him 
to-night." 

"What's  that?"  Mark  asked. 

"Two  fellers  in  here  not  twenty  minnits 
ago  askin'  for  him." 

"A  f-f-fat  one  and  a  thin  one?" 

"Them's  the  pair." 

Mark  and  I  looked  at  each  other.    It  was 
dead    certain    Collins    and    Jiggins    weren't 
letting  any  grass  grow  under  their  feet. 
240 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

"They  might  stumble  onto  him,"  I  says. 

"Yes,"  says  Mark,  "and  they  m-m-might 
stumble  onto  us,  too." 

I  never  thought  of  that.  We  might  run 
bang  into  them  any  time,  and  then  what 
would  happen?  Something  would,  that's 
sure;  but  what?  I  didn't  want  to  find  out. 

"We  got  to  go  cautious,"  says  I. 

Mark  wrinkled  his  nose  scornful-like. 

"How'd  you  come  to  think  of  that?"  he 
asked,  snappish.  I  guess  that  tumble  off  the 
train  had  upset  his  disposition.  I  made  up 
my  mind  I'd  leave  him  alone  till  he  felt  better. 

After  a  while  he  stopped  still  in  the  middle 
of  the  sidewalk  and  says,  "Hang  it!"  You 
never  saw  such  a  disgusted  look  as  he  had 
on  his  face. 

"What's  matter?"  I  asked. 

"I  ought  to  be  k-k-kicked,"  says  he. 

"All  right,"  says  I.    "What  for?" 

"For  not  askin'  who  Uncle  Hieronymous 
w-w- worked  for." 

To  be  sure.  Neither  of  us  had  thought  of 
it.  It  would  have  been  as  easy  as  biting  an 
apple  to  find  him  if  we  knew  who  his  boss 
was,  but  we  didn't..  Now  there  wasn't  any 
way  of  finding  out.  Mark  felt  pretty  bad. 
241 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

He  said  he  guessed  he  was  getting  feeble- 
minded and  a  lot  of  things  like  that.  And  he 
was  mad,  too.  I  was  glad  to  see  that,  for 
when  Marcus  Aurelius  Fortunatus  Tidd  gets 
mad  you  want  to  look  out.  From  now  on 
Jiggins  &  Co.  would  have  to  travel  pretty 
fast  to  beat  us. 

About  fifteen  minutes  later  I  saw  Jiggins 
and  Collins  about  a  block  ahead. 

"There,"  says  I  to  Mark,  "is  the  enemy." 

"F-f-fme,"  says  he.    "Come  on." 

"Where?" 

"F-follow  'em,  of  course.  If  they  find 
Uncle  Hieronymous  we  can  b-bust  in  on 
'em.  If  they  go  to  b-bed  we'll  be  able  to 
get  some  sleep,  too." 

That  was  a  fact.  So  long  as  we  knew  they 
were  in  bed  it  would  be  safe  for  us  to  take  a 
rest,  and  if  they  were  to  find  my  uncle  with 
us  looking  on  it  would  be  pretty  funny  if 
there  wasn't  some  way  for  us  to  warn  him 
before  he  signed  any  papers  and  made  over 
his  mineral  rights.  It  looked,  as  Mark  said, 
like  we  occupied  a  pretty  fine  strategical 
position.  He  knows  a  lot  of  words  like  that, 
and  you  ought  to  hear  him  say  them.  On  a 
good  long  word  with  "s's"  in  it  like  "stra- 
242 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

tegical,"  he'll  hiss  and  stutter  and  splutter 
for  five  minutes.  It's  better  than  listening  to 
a  phonograph. 

We  kept  about  half  a  block  behind  Jiggins 
&  Co.  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  road, 
taking  pains  to  keep  people  between  us 
and  the  men.  We  watched  them  go  into 
several  places,  probably  to  ask  about  Uncle 
Hieronymous,  but  every  time  they  came  out 
disappointed.  Finally  they  stopped  and  ar- 
gued a  few  minutes,  and  then  wheeled  sud- 
denly and  came  back  toward  us.  The  streets 
were  pretty  clear  by  this  time,  and  there  was 
no  chance  for  us  to  mingle  with  the  crowd  and 
get  away.  All  we  could  do  was  duck  into  a 
dark  stairway. 

Jiggins  &  Co.  crossed  the  street  to  our 
side  and  came  walking  up  the  sidewalk 
slowly,  like  they  were  pretty  well  played 
out.  If  they  felt  anything  like  I  did  they 
were,  and  there's  no  doubt  about  it.  Be- 
tween falling  off  a  train,  paddling  all  day, 
and  walking  all  the  evening  I  felt  like  I  was 
about  ready  to  give  up  the  ship.  Another 
mile  and  I  knew  I'd  up  and  splinter  all  to 
pieces  on  the  sidewalk.  Next  day  some- 
body'd  have  swept  me  up  in  a  dust-pan  and 
243 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

wondered  where  in  the  world  all  the  slivers 
came  from. 

The  nearer  the  enemy  got  the  farther  Mark 
and  I  scrooched  back  into  the  stairway.  In 
a  minnit  they  got  right  in  front  of  us,  and  I 
heard  Jiggins  speak  to  somebody. 

"Good  evening,  mister,"  he  says. 

"Good  evening,"  says  the  stranger. 

"We  just  came  to  town,"  says  Jiggins. 
"Been  here  two  hours.  Walked  and  walked. 
Looking  for  a  man.  Old  man.  Lumberman. 
Know  any  lumbermen?" 

"Heaps,"  says  the  stranger.  "Used  to  be 
a  lumber- jack  myself." 

"Just  our  man.  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  I  saw 
you.  Says  I,  'There's  the  feller.'  Yes,  sir. 
I  said  it  just  like  that.  Knows  lots  of  lum- 
bermen. Fine.  The  one  we're  looking  for 
travels  around  carrying  the  name  of  Hier- 
onymous  Alphabet  Bell.  Know  him?  Old 
feller.  Lives  up  Baldwin  way." 

"Sure  I  know  Hieronymous,"  says  the 
stranger.  "Hain't  seen  him  for  months,  but 
I  know  him.  Him  and  me  used  to  bunk  to- 
gether." 

"He's  in  town.    Came  to-day.    Can't  find 
him.    Where'd  he  be  apt  to  be?" 
244 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Well,"  says  the  stranger,  "he'd  be  apt 
to  be  over  to  the  Masonic  Temple,  but  he 
hain't,  'cause  I  just  come  from  there." 

"Where  does  he  usually  stop?" 

"  Don't  usually  stop  at  all.  Jest  comes  and 
goes." 

Then  he  took  to  asking  questions  himself. 
"Friend  of  Hieronymous's  be  you?" 

"Of  course.  To  be  sure.  He  hasn't  two 
better  friends." 

"Never  heard  him  mention  you,"  says  the 
stranger.  "  Lemme  see.  How  long's  Hierony- 
mous's beard  by  now?  Must  be  perty  long, 
eh?" 

"Never  measured  her  exactly,"  says  Jiggins. 
"Long,  though.  Foot,  maybe.  Great  beard. 
Don't  know  when  I  ever  saw  a  better  one." 

"Umph!"  says  the  lumberman.  "Good 
friends  of  Hieronymous's,  eh?  Perty  inti- 
mate-like?" 

"  Well,  not  what  you'd  call  intimate,  maybe. 
But  friends.  Good  friends." 

"See  him  lately?  Must  'a'  seen  him  perty 
lately,  eh?" 

"Three  days  ago." 

' '  Um !"  says  the  stranger.  ' '  What  was  you 
lookin'  for  him  for?" 

245 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Business,"  says  Jiggins,  and  his  voice 
began  to  sound  like  he  wasn't  exactly  pleased. 

"Most  likely,"  says  the  stranger.  "Well," 
he  says,  sort  of  dry-like  and  humorous,  "I 
don't  calc'late  I  can  help  you  any.  Why? 
Best  reason  in  the  world.  The  Hieronymous 
I  know  don't  wear  no  beard  at  all.  Good 
evenin',  gents." 

Well,  I  could  have  busted  right  out  laugh- 
ing, but  Mark  pinched  my  leg  so  hard  I 
almost  hollered  because  it  hurt.  "Hush!" 
says  he.  Oh,  but  it  was  great!  I  never  was 
so  tickled  in  all  my  life  as  I  was  to  hear  that 
old  lumberman  get  the  best  of  those  two. 
I'd  pay  money  to  hear  it  again.  Yes,  sir, 
I'd  go  as  high  as  a  quarter,  and  we  don't  dig 
up  quarters  in  my  back  yard,  either. 

We  waited  a  short  spell,  and  Mark  says: 
"I'll  follow  the  lumberman  and  find  out  where 
Uncle  Hieronymous  is  apt  to  be  and  who  he 
w-w- works  for.  You  f-f -follow  Jiggins  &  Co. 
to  where  they  sleep." 

"All  right,"  says  I,  and  off  we  went. 

Jiggins  and  Collins  went  straight  to  the 

big  hotel  on  the  avenue.    I  climbed  the  steps 

as  close  behind  them  as  I  dared  and  saw 

them  go  up  to  the  man  behind  the  counter. 

246 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

This  man  poked  a  big  book  at  them,  and  they 
signed  their  names  to  it.  Then  the  man 
called  a  boy  over,  who  took  a  key  and  led 
them  over  to  the  stairs.  All  this  time  I 
was  peeking  in  a  window  with  a  screen 
in  it. 

Just  as  Jiggins  was  putting  his  foot  on  the 
first  step  he  turned  around  and  called  out, 
"Leave  a  call  for  us  for  seven  o'clock." 

That  settled  them  for  the  night.  I  knew 
where  they  were,  and  I  knew  how  long  they 
would  stay  there.  Now  Mark  and  I  could 
take  a  few  hours'  snooze,  and  we  needed  it 
bad,  I  can  tell  you.  I  can't  think  of  anything 
I  wouldn't  have  traded  for  eight  long  hours 
of  sleep. 

I  went  back  to  the  corner  of  the  street 
where  Mark  had  gone  after  the  lumberman 
and  waited  there.  In  fifteen  minutes  he 
came  limping  along,  looking  as  tired  and  dis- 
consolate-like  as  if  he  was  just  getting  in 
from  a  seven -days'  journey  and  somebody 
had  stolen  his  clothes  the  last  day  out. 

"Well?"  says  I. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  much  g-g-good," 
says  he.  "He  don't  know  who  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous  works  for,  and  he  d-d-don't  know  where 
247 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

he  is.  P-promised  to  tell  him  we  were  here 
if  he  saw  him." 

"Well,"  says  I,  "Jiggins  &  Co.  are  tucked 
in  their  little  beds  and  won't  be  out  till  seven 
o'clock  to-morrow.  Have  you  got  any  good 
arguments  why  we  shouldn't  find  a  place  to 
sleep?" 

"N-n-nary  argument,"  says  Mark. 

"Where'llwego?" 

"Let's  t-try  that  little  hotel  back  yonder. 
The  one  with  the  b-b-balcony  in  front." 

"All  right,"  says  I.  "Have  we  got  money 
enough?" 

"I've  g-got  five  dollars  and  thirty-two 
c-c-cents,"  says  he. 

That  looked  like  it  would  be  enough,  so 
we  went  back  to  the  little  hotel  and  stirred 
up  the  man,  who  was  fast  asleep  behind  his 
counter.  He  made  us  pay  a  dollar  in  advance, 
because  he  said  we  didn't  have  any  baggage. 
He  grinned  then  and  said  he  didn't  calc'late 
we  looked  over-trustworthy.  Said  we  looked 
to  him  like  we  were  dangerous  characters 
and  ought  to  be  watched,  and  made  a  great 
clatter  about  locking  up  his  little  safe.  There 
are  a  lot  of  men  who  think  it's  awful  funny 
to  make  fun  of  boys  that  way.  I've  known 
248 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

men  who  never  got  a  joke  on  a  grown  man 
that  were  always  picking  onto  kids.  But 
this  fellow  picked  on  the  wrong  kid.  Mark 
stood  it  awhile,  getting  more  and  more  pro- 
voked every  second.  At  last  he  lays  down 
the  dollar  and  says: 

"There,  mister,  now  you  g-g-got  somethin* 
to  put  in  your  safe.  Bet  this  d-d-dollar  '11 
s'prise  it  most  to  death." 

Well,  sir,  that's  the  way  that  hotel  looked, 
like  dollars  were  pretty  scarce  there,  and 
what  Mark  said  hit  the  man  right  under  the 
belt.  At  first  he  was  mad,  but  pretty  soon 
he  grinned,  sheepish-like,  and  says: 

"You  got  me  there,  sonny.  You  got  me 
there.  Business  hain't  what  it  used  to  be 
when  the  river  was  floatin'  down  its  millions 
of  feet  of  timber.  Them  days  is  gone  with 
'em.  There's  new  things  to-day,  boys,  but 
us  old-timers  hain't  able  somehow  to  learn 
new  ways.  Our  luck  went  with  the  timber. 
Don't  blame  you  for  hittin*  back,  sonny. 
I  was  perty  fresh  with  you,  and  I  beg  your 
pardon."  He  stuck  out  his  hand,  and  we  both 
shook  it,  and  were  sorry  for  him.  He  looked 
like  a  nice  man,  and  we  hoped  his  hard  luck 
wouldn't  last. 

249 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

He  showed  us  up-stairs  and  came  into  the 
room  with  us. 

"Never  had  no  boys  of  my  own,"  says  he. 
"Wanted  'em,  too."  And  he  sat  down  and 
told  us  some  stories  about  the  old  lumbering 
days  and  what  a  wild  town  Ludington  was 
when  the  run  came  down  and  how  the  lumber- 
jacks, with  their  Mackinaw  jackets  and  calked 
boots,  used  to  swarm  into  town  and  make  it 
dangerous  for  anybody  that  couldn't  take 
pretty  good  care  of  himself  to  be  out  of  doors. 
He  told  us  stories  about  the  camps  and  about 
life  on  the  rivers,  and  about  fights  and  about 
birreling  -  matches,  till  we  forgot  we  were 
sleepy.  My,  but  those  must  have  been  bully 
days!  But  they're  all  over  in  Michigan. 
Men  that  thought  too  much  of  money  have 
butchered  off  the  pine,  and  there  isn't  any 
left,  when  it  might  have  lasted  for  ever,  al- 
most, if  it  had  been  looked  after  the  right 
way.  The  hotel-keeper  says  folks  realize 
that  now  when  it's  too  late. 

After  a  while  he  said  good  night.  "Boys," 
says  he,  "I've  enjoyed  talkin'  with  you. 
D'you  know,  I  wouldn't  charge  you  a  cent 
for  stoppin'  here,  but  I  bet  I  need  that  dol- 
lar a  dozen  times  as  bad  as  you  do." 
250 


MARK  TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"You're  w-w- welcome  to  it,"  says  Mark, 
"and  we've  enjoyed  hearin'  you  t-t-talk." 
"What  time  you  want  to  git  up?" 
"Six  o'clock,"  says  Mark.     Then  we  all 
said  good  night,  and  in  three  minnits  I  was 
in  bed  and  sound  asleep. 

17 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  hotel -keeper  called  us  at  six  o'clock. 
There  wasn't  any  need  for  a  second 
call,  and  we  hurried  down  and  had  some  eggs 
and  salt  pork  and  potatoes  and  coffee  and 
bread  and  butter  and  canned  peaches.  Just 
a  light  breakfast.  After  we  got  out  in  the 
street  we  bought  some  bananas  and  ate  three 
apiece.  After  that  we  felt  all  right. 

"To-day's  the  1-1-last  of  it,"  says  Mark. 

"Somebody  '11  win  sure  before  night,"  I 
says. 

"It '11  be  us,"  he  says. 

That's  what  a  good  breakfast  will  do  for 
a  fellow.  It  gives  him  confidence. 

We  started  off  for  the  hotel  where  Jiggins 
&  Co.  were  and  sat  down  on  the  porch  where 
we  could  look  into  the  office  and  see  them 
the  minnit  they  came  down -stairs.  We 
waited  and  waited.  After  a  while  the  clock 
struck  seven. 

"They're  due  now,"  I  says. 
252 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

But  they  didn't  come.  At  half  past  seven 
I  began  to  get  fidgety  and  so  did  Mark. 

"Don't  seem  1-1-like  they'd  oversleep  to- 
day," says  he. 

"It  don't,"  says  I. 

"Let's  investigate,"  says  he. 

We  marched  in  to  the  man  behind  the 
counter  and  asked  for  Mr.  Jiggins. 

"Fat  man?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"He  and  his  friend  got  up  early,"  says  the 
man.  "They  left  a  call  for  seven,  but  they 
were  down  here  at  six.  Had  breakfast  and 
went  out." 

Now,  that  was  a  nice  thing  to  start  the  day 
with,  wasn't  it?  We  thought  we  had  the 
advantage  of  them.  It  was  all  plain  as  pie  to 
us  how  we  could  stick  to  their  heels  till  they 
found  Uncle  Hieronymous  and  then  bust  in 
on  them  and  knock  their  scheme  a-kiting. 
Now  the  shoe  was  pinching  the  other  foot, 
and  it  pinched  hard. 

We  turned  away  without  so  much  as  say- 
ing thank  you  to  the  man.  Somehow  there 
didn't  seem  to  be  much  to  thank  him  for. 
It  would  have  been  too  much  like  saying 
much  obliged  to  a  cow  that  hooked  you. 
253 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Out  on  the  porch  we  flopped  down  in  a  couple 
of  chairs  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"Looks  like  we  was  done  for,"  I  says. 

Mark  Tidd  never  will  admit  he's  beaten. 
It  made  him  mad  to  hear  me  say  so. 

"I'll  sh-sh-show  you  if  we, 're  b-b-beat,"  he 
says,  stuttering  so  bad  he  almost  choked. 
"We  hain't  beat,  and  we  hain't  goin'  to  be 
b-b-beat." 

"All  right,"  says  I,  "that  suits  me  fine. 
How  do  we  manage  it?" 

"Sittin'  here  won't  do  it,"  says  he,  and  got 
onto  his  feet.  "Come  on." 

There  wasn't  a  thing  to  do  but  try  to  find 
uncle  ourselves.  If  we  got  to  him  before 
Jiggins  &  Co.  all  right.  If  they  found  him 
first  the  bacon  was  burned,  and  there  we 
were.  Nice,  wasn't  it?  It  made  me  sick  to 
think  of  all  the  work  we'd  done  and  all  the 
trouble  we'd  taken,  and  then  to  have  the  whole 
thing  depend  on  luck  at  the  end.  We  were 
discouraged,  but  we  didn't  let  up.  We  said 
we'd  keep  up  the  battle  till  the  cows  came 
home,  and  we  did. 

I  never  saw  a  man  so  hard  to  find  as  Uncle 
Hieronymous  was.  We  met  men  who  had 
seen  him,  and  we  went  into  places  where  he'd 
254 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

been,  but  nobody  knew  where  he'd  gone  or 
if  he'd  be  back.  This  kept  up  till  after  ten 
o'clock. 

"If  he's  h-h-hard  for  us  to  find,"  says 
Mark,  "he  must  be  hard  for  them  to  f-f-find." 

There  wasn't  a  great  deal  of  comfort  in 
that,  but  we  took  all  we  could  get. 

I  saw  by  a  jewelry-store  clock  it  was  a 
quarter  to  eleven,  and  just  then  a  man  spoke 
to  Mark  Tidd. 

"Be  you  the  kid  that  was  askin'  after 
Hieronymous  Bell  last  night?" 

"Yes,  "says  Mark. 

"I  seen  him,"  says  the  man;  and  then  I 
recognized  his  voice.  He  was  the  lumber- 
man that  was  talking  with  Jiggins  &  Co.  the 
night  before.  "I  seen  him,"  says  he,  "with 
them  two  fellers,  the  fat  one  and  the  lean 
one.  And  there  was  another  feller,  too.  Fel- 
ler by  the  name  of  Siggins,  lawyer.  Not  one 
of  those  here  big  lawyers  that  git  to  be 
judges,  but  a  leetle  one  that  goes  slinkin' 
around  corners.  I  calc'late  he  hain't  no  fit 
companion  for  Hieronymous." 

"  Where'd  they  g-g-go?"  Mark  asked,  quick. 

"Looked  like  they  was  headin'  for  Siggins's 
office." 

255 


MARK   TIDD   IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Where's  that?" 

The  lumberman  pointed  to  a  yellow-brick 
building  about  a  block  back.  "There,"  says 
he.  "Up  the  stairs  in  a  back  room." 

"M-much  obliged,"  says  Mark;  and  off  we 
went  hot-foot. 

It  was  a  case  of  hurry  now,  and  hurry  hard. 
Uncle  Hieronymous  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy,  and  his  mine  would  be  a  goner  if  we 
didn't  get  our  heavy  artillery  to  work  in  a 
jiffy.  But  we  had  a  chance,  and  a  good  one. 

We  ran.  I  beat  Mark  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  but  he  was  puffing  right  at  my  heels. 
How  he  did  puff!  The  stairs  came  up  in  a 
hallway  that  ran  straight  ahead  to  the  back 
of  the  building  and  an  outside  door.  Another 
hall  ran  crossways  from  one  end  of  the  build- 
ing to  the  other. 

"Now,  where's  Siggins's  o-o-office?"  says 
Mark. 

He  got  an  answer,  too.  No  sooner  were 
the  words  out  of  his  mouth  than  Collins 
stepped  out  of  the  door  of  the  last  office  at 
the  back  of  the  building,  the  one  on  the  left 
side  of  the  hall.  He  saw  us  that  very  instant, 
and  the  way  he  came  for  us  would  have  made 
a  Comanche  Indian  proud.  He  swooped.  I 
256 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

hadn't  any  idea  he  could  move  so  fast. 
Before  we  could  open  our  mouths  he  had  us 
by  the  collars  and  was  hustling  us  down- 
stairs. In  less  than  a  second  we  were  out 
on  the  sidewalk. 

"Business  before  pleasure,"  says  Collins, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "I  couldn't  stop 
to  say  howdy-do  till  we  were  down  here." 

"You  needn't  stop  to  say  it  now,"  I  says, 
mad  all  over. 

"Now,  Binney,"  says  he,  "no  hard  feelings. 
We  couldn't  have  you  mousing  around  up 
there — now,  could  we?  If  you  were  in  my 
place  wouldn't  you  do  just  what  I  did?" 

I  suppose  I  would,  but  that  didn't  have 
anything  to  do  with  it,  that  I  could  see. 

"You  might  as  well  give  it  up,"  says 
Collins.  "You've  made  a  bully  try,  and  you 
had  us  scared.  Two  boys  couldn't  have  done 
better.  You're  all  right." 

We  weren't  looking  for  compliments,  but, 
just  the  same,  I  couldn't  help  feeling  Collins 
was  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  fellow.  He  was 
doing  wrong,  but  he  didn't  realize  it.  I 
don't  believe  it's  as  bad  to  do  wrong  when 
you  don't  know  you're  doing  wrong  as  it  is  to 
do  wrong  on  purpose.  But  I  may  be  mistaken. 
257 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"I'm  going  to  stand  half-way  up  the  stairs," 
says  Collins,  "an'  I'm  not  going  to  let  you 
past.  No  good  to  try.  I'll  be  as  gentle  as 
I  can,  but  you'd  better  own  up  you're  beaten. 
Don't  feel  bad  about  it.  You  put  up  a  dandy 
fight." 

Mark  Tidd  was  pinching  his  cheek  and 
squinting  his  eyes.  Somehow  that  made  me 
feel  a  little  lighter  inside.  I'd  been  feeling 
like  I'd  swallowed  a  ton  of  lead  by  mistake. 

"Well,"  says  Mark,  "we  m-m-might  as  well 
git  away  from  here." 

"That's  the  spirit,"  says  Collins.  "But, 
all  the  same,  I'll  be  standing  right  on  those 
stairs,  so  don't  try  any  monkey-shines." 

"Come  on,  Binney,"  says  Mark,  as  down- 
hearted as  could  be.  We  walked  to  the 
corner  and  turned.  "Now  r-r-run,"  says 
Mark.  He  started  off  helter-skelter,  and  I 
stuck  right  by  him.  At  the  back  corner  of  the 
building  he  stopped.  "Over  the  f-f -fence," 
he  panted. 

We  were  over  in  a  jiffy,  and  then  over  the 
next  fence,  and  that  brought  us  into  the 
back  yard  of  the  yellow-brick  building. 

I  guess  Mark  had  been  expecting  to  go  up 
the  back  stairs  and  get  in  that  way,  but  the 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

stairs  were  all  built  in  and  there  was  a  pad- 
lock on  the  door.  Mark  stood  looking  at  it 
like  it  had  reached  out  and  slapped  him, 
then  he  looked  up  at  the  second  story  as  if 
he  thought  maybe  he'd  try  to  jump. 

"Urn!"  says  he.  "Urn!"  Then  he  began 
looking  all  around.  At  last  he  banged  his 
right  fist  against  his  other  hand  and  pointed 
to  a  low  barn  on  the  back  of  the  lot  that 
faced  the  next  street.  "Can  we  get  up 
th-th-there?"  he  asked. 

"If  it  11  do  any  good,"  says  I. 

"It  may,"  says  he. 

We  went  back  to  the  fence  and  climbed 
to  the  top  of  it.  Right  here  came  the  first 
piece  of  luck  we'd  had  for  a  long  time: 
there  was  a  painter's  ladder  in  that  yard 
lying  against  the  barn. 

In  a  minnit  we  had  it  up  against  the  side 
and  were  scrambling  to  the  roof.  In  two 
minnits  we  were  perched  on  the  ridge-pole, 
looking  across  at  the  window  of  the  office 
where  Uncle  Hieronymous  was  shut  in  with 
Jiggins  and  the  lawyer. 

"What  good  is  this?"  I  says. 

"Attract  his  attention,"  says  Mark. 

"How?" 

259 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Yell,"  says  he. 

I  did.  "Uncle  Hieronymous!"  I  hollered, 
as  loud  as  I  could.  "Uncle  Hieronymous!" 

If  the  window  across  had  been  open  it 
might  have  been  all  right,  but,  as  it  was, 
nothing  happened  at  all.  I  tried  again.  It 
didn't  do  a  bit  of  good. 

"Well,"  says  I,  feeling  like  I  could  beller, 
"we're  beat." 

It  did  seem  hard  to  come  out  at  the  little 
end  of  it  when  we  were  so  close.  It  looked 
like  it  ought  to  be  so  easy  to  warn  Uncle  Hier- 
onymous when  he  was  only  a  hundred  feet 
or  so  away.  But  it  wasn't  easy.  It  looked 
like  it  was  impossible. 

"Got  to  f-f-find  some  other  way,"  says 
Mark. 

"There  isn't  any,"  says  I. 

"Must  be,"  says  he.  "Got  to  be.  L-lemme 
think." 

He  thought  and  thought,  and  pinched  his 
cheek  and  squinted  his  eyes,  but  it  didn't 
seem  like  he  was  doing  any  good.  After  a 
while  he  sighed — a  regular  whopper  of  a  sigh. 

"We  hain't  doin'  any  good  here,"  he  says. 
"Have  to  t-try  somewheres  else." 

"Hain't  got  time,"  says  I. 
260 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Got  half  an  hour,  maybe.  There'll  be 
dickerin'.  Your  uncle  won't  make  no  deal 
till  he's  argued  and  fussed  around  c-con- 
sid'able.  He's  one  of  them  kind.  They 
hain't  been  there  long,  and  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous  never  '11  sell  a  farm  in  less  'n  an  hour." 

I  wasn't  so  sure  of  that,  and  it  didn't  look 
like  much  to  depend  on,  but  Mark  don't 
often  go  wrong  when  he's  figgerin'  out  what 
folks  '11  do.  He's  the  greatest  fellow  for  know- 
ing how  anybody  '11  act  that  you  ever  saw. 

"Come  on,"  says  he,  beginning  to  scramble 
down  off  the  shed. 

"Where  to?"  I  asked. 

1 ' Anywheres  but  here, ' '  says  he .  "It  makes 
me  mad  to  see  them  so  close  and  not  be  able 
to  d-d-do  anything." 

So  down  we  slid  into  the  yard  again. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IT  looked  pretty  much  to  me  like  we  were 
giving  up — sort  of  deserting  the  ship. 
There  we  had  been  where  we  could  actually 
see  uncle  and  Jiggins  and  Collins,  and  we 
were  going  some  place  else.  It  seemed  as 
if  getting  down  off  that  roof  and  losing  sight 
of  them  was  about  the  same  thing  as  running 
away.  But  then  I  looked  at  Mark.  His 
chin  stuck  out  like  the  cow-catcher  on  an 
engine.  If  I  was  going  to  draw  a  picture  of 
Determination  I'd  have  it  look  just  like  Mark 
did  then.  That  was  a  little  comfort. 

"We  got  to  hurry,"  says  I,  sort  of  nervous- 
like. 

"Hurry  where?"  says  Mark,  with  just  the 
commencement  of  a  grin. 

Well,  there  I  was.  I  hadn't  any  more  idea 
what  we  ought  to  do  than  the  man  in  the  moon. 

Mark  started  through  the  yard  for  the 
street.  We  climbed  the  first  fence  and  that 
took  us  back  of  a  hardware  store — an  area 
262 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

full  of  boxes  and  crates  and  all  sorts  of  rub- 
bish. We  had  to  pick  our  way  up  close  to 
the  building.  As  we  passed  the  door  I 
saw  Mark  stop  and  stoop  down.  When 
he  got  up  there  was  a  coil  of  old  half-inch 
rope  in  his  hands — and  he  was  grinning.  I 
could  see  in  a  minnit  he'd  got  his  idea. 

"Wait  a  s-s-second,"  says  he,  and  he  hur- 
ried into  the  store  and  up  to  a  man  standing 
by  the  counter. 

"L-1-lemme  take  this  r-rope,"  he  stut- 
tered, all  out  of  breath.  "I  need  it  b-bad. 
Bring  it  back  s-s-sure."  You  never  heard 
such  stuttering! 

"Say  that  over  ag'in,  young  feller,"  says 
the  man. 

"I  want  to  b-b-borrow  this  rope,"  splut- 
tered Mark,  getting  sort  of  mad. 

The  man  grinned.  "That  there's  a  perty 
valuable  rope,"  he  said.  "I  dun'no's  I  got 
a  more  valuable  piece  'n  that.  I'm  right 
down  proud  of  that  rope,  I  am.  Don't  no- 
ways calc'late  to  lose  it.  Got  any  security, 
young  feller?" 

In  a  second  Mark  had  out  his  watch, 
snapped  it  off  his  chain,  and  laid  it  down 
on  the  counter. 

263 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"There,"  says  he,  and  fairly  ran  out  of  the 
store  with  the  rope  in  his  hand.  He  went 
out  the  front  door,  and  I  after  him. 

"Now  what?"  I  asked. 

He  didn't  say  a  word,  but  just  began  coil- 
ing that  rope  as  careful  as  if  it  was  made 
of  solid  gold  and  he  was  afraid  of  scratching 
it.  And  all  the  time  Uncle  Hieronymous  was 
in  that  room  with  those  two  men.  By  this 
time,  maybe,  they  had  his  mine  all  taken 
away  from  him. 

"Hurry!"  says  I.     "Hurry!    Hurry!" 

"Don't  do  to  h-hurry  too  much,"  says  he. 
"Slow  and  careful.  Take  no  chances." 

By  this  time  his  rope  was  all  coiled,  and 
he  began  making  a  little  loop  in  one  end — a 
little  loop  about  two  inches  long. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked,  too  anxious  to 
keep  still.  It  made  me  almost  crazy  to  see 
him  so  deliberate. 

He  didn't  answer,  but  just  doubled  the 
rope  a  ways  from  the  noose  and  shoved  it 
through  the  little  loop.  Then  I  saw.  He 
was  making  a  lasso. 

It  sort  of  disgusted  me,  for  I  couldn't  see 
what  good  in  the  world  a  lasso  could  do,  but 
he  seemed  satisfied.  He  made  his  noose  just 
264 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

the  right  size  to  suit  him  and  stretched  it  and 
put  his  foot  in  it  to  pull  out  all  the  crinkles. 

"There,"  says  he,  just  like  he'd  been  trying 
to  invent  an  airship  and  it  had  turned  out  to 
suit  him.  "Now,"  says  he  to  me,  "listen 
c-careful  and  don't  make  any  mistakes." 

"Go  ahead,"  says  I. 

"We're  going  to  the  st-st-stairs  where  Col- 
lins is,"  says  he.  "WTien  we  g-get  there  you 
start  to  go  up.  Stamp  with  your  feet  and 
m-make  a  lot  of  noise.  As  soon  as  Collins  sees 
you,  begin  to  m-make  fun  of  him.  Get  him 
mad!  Get  him  awful  mad!" 

"Fine!"  says  I.  "And  let  him  catch  me 
and  give  me  a  wallopin',  too,  I  expect." 

"No,"  says  Mark.  " Make  him  ch-ch-chase 
you." 

"Great!"  I  says,  sarcastic-like. 

"Make  him  chase  you,"  he  repeated,  "and 
be  sure  to  turn  this  way.  Remember,  turn 
this  way.  Be  sure  he's  so  mad  he'll  chase  you." 

"Well,"  says  I,  "I  don't  see  any  sense  to 
it,  but  maybe  you  know  what  you're  up  to 
with  your  chases  and  your  lasso  and  one 
thing  and  another.  Here  goes!" 

I  started  for  the  stairs,  leaving  Mark  stand- 
ing close  to  a  telephone-pole  with  his  lasso 
265 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

in  his  hand.  When  I  turned  in  the  doorway 
I  saw  Collins  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  with 
his  back  turned.  I  stamped  on  the  first  step. 
Quick  as  a  wink  he  turned  around. 

"Git  out  of  there,"  says  he. 

"Peanuts,"  says  I,  aggravating-like,  and 
took  another  step  up. 

"Binney,"  says  Collins,  "don't  go  making 
any  monkey-shines.  Go  on  away  before  I 
have  to  spank  you." 

"Huh!"  I  says.    "Spank!    A-a-aw!" 

He  began  to  look  cross,  and  I  went  up  two 
more  steps,  ready,  you  can  bet,  to  turn  and 
run  just  the  minnit  he  looked  like  he  was 
after  me. 

"Don't  be  sassy,  Binney,"  Collins  says. 
"It  isn't  becoming  to  small  boys." 

I  went  up  another  step.  He  started  to  come 
down,  but  not  fast.  I  could  see  he  wasn't 
real  good  and  mad  yet,  so  I  didn't  run. 
Then  I  had  an  idea  myself.  It  isn't  very 
often  I  get  one,  so  I  want  credit  for  this.  I 
remembered  that  I  had  a  few  bits  of  gravel 
in  my  pocket — round  pebbles  I'd  figured  on 
using  some  day  in  my  sling-shot.  I  reached 
for  one  and  shot  it  at  Collins  just  like  you 
shoot  a  marble.  It  went  whizz  past  his  ear. 
266 


HE   WENT    DOWN.    ROLLING    OVER   AND    OVER    RIGHT    UP    TO    UNCLE 
HIERONYMOUS'S    FEET 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Now  that  would  make  anybody  mad, 
wouldn't  it — to  have  a  kid  shooting  pebbles 
at  him?  He  said  something  sharp.  I  shot 
another  pebble,  and  it  hit  his  hat.  At  that 
he  let  out  a  yell — a  mad  yell — and  jumped 
for  me. 

Maybe  you  think  I  didn't  get  down  those 
stairs  quick.  I  don't  remember  touching  my 
feet  at  all.  Seems  like  I  made  it  in  one  leap 
and  lit  running.  Collins  was  right  at  my 
heels,  and  I  could  almost  feel  his  hand  on 
my  collar.  I  was  scairt,  all  right,  but  I 
didn't  forget  to  turn  the  way  Mark  told  me 
to.  In  a  second  I  scudded  past  him  where 
he  stood  by  the  telephone-pole  holding  his 
lasso.  As  I  passed  I  saw  him  begin  to  twirl 
the  noose. 

Then  I  heard  Collins  say  something  that 
sounded  like,  "Wo-oo-of!"  only  louder  and 
more  surprised;  and  there  was  a  scrape  and 
a  scuffle.  I  grabbed  a  hitching-post  and 
stopped  sudden.  There  was  Collins  in  a  heap 
on  the  sidewalk,  with  the  lasso  around  his 
body  and  one  arm,  and  Mark  giving  the  rope 
a  turn  around  his  post  and  pulling  like  all- 
git-out. 

" Q-quick!"  he  stuttered.     " Up-stairs." 
is  267 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

I  understood  then  and  dived  for  the  stair- 
way. Mark  gave  another  jerk  on  the  lasso, 
sprawling  Collins  over,  and  came  after  me. 
Up  we  went,  making  a  clatter  like  a  runaway 
team  crossing  a  wooden  bridge.  We  were 
pretty  nearly  at  the  top  before  Collins  got 
loose  and  reached  the  bottom. 

The  way  was  clear  before  us  to  the  door 
of  the  lawyer's  office  where  Uncle  Hierony- 
mous  was,  but  Collins  was  coming  fast. 
He  came  up  so  fast  his  feet  on  the  stairs 
sounded  like  he  was  playing  a  snare-drum. 
But  he  couldn't  catch  us.  There  was  only 
thirty  feet  to  go,  and  it  was  plain  running. 
We  ran! 

And  then!  When  we  were  not  more  than 
six  feet  from  that  door  it  opened  and  out 
stepped  Jiggins! 

Maybe  he'd  heard  the  racket,  maybe  he 
wanted  a  breath  of  air — I  don't  know  what 
brought  him,  but  there  he  was.  He  was  no 
slow  thinker,  either.  One  glance  showed  him 
what  was  up,  showed  him  Collins's  head 
just  coming  into  sight.  His  mouth  set,  and 
he  plunged  for  Mark,  who  was  at  my  side, 
made  a  grab  at  him  with  one  hand  and  at 
me  with  the  other. 

268 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

He  got  Mark,  but  missed  me.  I  stopped 
up  and  then  dove  at  his  legs  just  like  I  was 
playing  football.  He  and  Mark  went  down 
with  a  bang,  and  Collins,  who  was  coming 
a  mile  a  minute,  went  sprawling  over  them. 
In  the  scrimmage  I  got  hold  of  one  leg  of 
Jiggins's  and  one  of  Collins's  and  held  on. 
I  couldn't  see,  because  somebody  rolled  on 
top  of  me. 

Next  thing  I  knew  I  heard  something  rip, 
and  saw  Mark  squirm  and  roll  away  toward 
the  door.  He  was  heavy  and  fat,  but  you 
should  have  seen  how  he  got  to  his  feet! 
Then  he  fairly  dived  at  the  door.  It  banged 
open,  and  he  went  down,  rolling  over  and 
over  on  the  floor  right  up  to  Uncle  Hier- 
onymous's  feet. 

Uncle  Hieronymous  yelled,  "Woosh!" 
frightened-like,  and  jumped  up  on  his  feet. 

Mark  didn't  wait  to  get  up;  he  just  laid 
there  and  hollered  as  loud  as  he  could. 

"Don't  s-s-sell  it!  Don't  have  anything 
to  d-do  with  'em.  They're—" 

At  that  Collins,  mad  as  the  very  dickens, 

got  into  the  room  and  started  to  go  for  Mark. 

Uncle  didn't  know  very  clear  what  was  going 

on,  but  he  did  know  there  was  a  man  looking 

269 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

like  he  didn't  mean  anything  friendly  to  a 
boy,  so  what  does  he  do  but  step  spry  over 
Mark  and  take  holt  of  Collins.  I  hadn't  any 
idea  uncle  was  so  strong.  Why,  he  put  his 
hands  under  Collins's  arms  and  just  natu- 
rally lifted  him  up  into  the  air. 

"Stiddy!  Stiddy,  there!"  he  says,  mild- 
like.  "What's  this  here,  eh?  What's  all  this 
rollin'  and  plungin'  and  rampagin'  around?" 
He  sort  of  grinned  friendly  into  Collins's  face, 
still  holdin'  him  in  the  air. 

By  that  time  Mark  was  up,  and  I  got  into 
the  room,  with  Jiggins  at  my  heels.  I  stole 
a  look  at  Jiggins,  and  he  sure  did  look  queer 
— he  looked  beaten. 

Marked  looked  at  him  too.  "You're  beat, 
Mr.  Jiggins,"  says  he.  "You're  b-b-beat." 

Jiggins  never  said  a  word.  Then  Uncle 
Hieronymous  put  Collins  down  on  his  feet. 

"Easy,  now,"  he  told  him.  "Stand  with- 
out hitchin',  mister."  Then  he  turned  to 
Mark  and  me.  "What  in  tunket  be  you 
boys  doin'  here?"  he  asked,  looking  puzzled 
and  sort  of  vague.  "Didn't  I  leave  you  back 
to  Baldwin,  eh?  Didn't  I?" 

"Have  you  signed  anything?"  asked  Mark. 

"Nary  thing,"  says  Uncle  Hieronymous. 
270 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Hurray!"  says  Mark,  and  I  joined  in. 

"What's  all  this  rumpus  about?"  uncle 
asked,  wagging  his  head  and  tugging  at  his 
mustache. 

Jiggins  pushed  past  me  and  tried  to  speak, 
but  uncle  looked  at  him  queer-like,  and  says: 

"Mister,  I  guess  you  better  let  this  here 
boy  talk  a  spell.  Seems  like  I'm  hankerin' 
to  hear  him  worse  'n  I  be  you." 

"But — "  says  Jiggins. 

"I  don't  want  to  speak  to  you  noways  but 
kind,"  says  uncle,  beginning  to  frown  a  little, 
"but  it  runs  in  my  head  you  been  up  to  some- 
thin',  mister.  Now  you  jest  keep  still  till 
Marcus  Tidd  gits  in  his  say." 

Jiggins  remembered  how  uncle  had  hoisted 
Collins,  and  didn't  say  another  word.  As 
for  the  lawyer-man,  he  was  edging  toward 
the  door. 

"Well?"  says  Uncle  Hieronymous. 

Then  we  told  him,  each  of  us  trying  to  talk 
at  once.  We  told  him  everything  from  the 
beginning.  We  described  how  we  got  sus- 
picious of  Collins,  and  how  we  found  the  let- 
ter and  the  telegram,  and  what  we  overheard 
on  the  lake,  and  how  we  escaped  from  the 
cabin,  and  all  about  our  race  down  the  river. 
271 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Uncle  kept  saying  "Oh!"  and  "Ah!"  and 
"Goodness  gracious!"  and  grunting  like  he 
was  astonished  most  out  of  his  head. 

"A  mine!"  says  he,  when  we  were  through. 
"Copper!  Urn!  Who'd  'a'  thought  it?  Not 
me.  Nor  Alfred.  Hain't  that  fine,  now? 
I'm  happy,  eh?  Alfred's  happy.  Marthy 
and  Mary  '11  be  happy."  For  a  minnit  he 
didn't  say  a  word ;  then  he  turned  to  Collins 
and  Jiggins,  and  you  wouldn't  believe  how 
dignified  he  looked  in  that  minnit.  "And," 
says  he,  gentle-like,  but  accusingly,  "you 
tried  to  git  it  away  from  me  for  three  hundred 
dollars.  I  hadn't  never  done  you  no  despite, 
had  I?  No.  Then  why  did  you  fellers  try  to 
do  this?  Don't  seem  noways  decent  nor 
Christian  to  act  like  you  done.  I  guess," 
he  says,  sorry-like,  "that  I  don't  want  to 
talk  to  you  no  more.  Come  on,  boys.  Let's 
go  away  from  here." 

We  went  out  of  the  door  and  left  Jig- 
gins  &  Co.  standing  there.  I  looked  back. 
They  looked  ashamed.  Yes,  sir;  ashamed  is 
the  word.  They  weren't  looking  at  each  other 
at  all,  but  at  the  floor.  Somehow  I  felt 
ashamed  for  them.  I  didn't  say  a  word  to 
them,  nor  did  Mark. 

272 


MARK   TIDD    IN    THE    BACKWOODS 

When  we  got  out  into  the  street  uncle 
stopped  and  grabbed  his  leg  between  his 
thumb  and  finger  and  pinched  it  good. 

"'Tain't  no  nightmare,  is  it?"  he  asked. 
"Them  men  was  there,  and  there  is  a  mine, 
eh?  No  mistake?" 

"There's  a  mine,"  says  Mark,  "and  it's 
worth  a  1-1-lot  of  money." 

"To  be  sure,"  says  Uncle  Hieronymous. 
"Mines  generally  is.  Well,  well!  Who'd 
'a'  thought  it?  Copper  under  that  ol'  forty. 
Marcy  me!  What  had  I  best  do?  I  dun'no' 
what  to  do  about  it." 

"See  a  good  lawyer,"  says  Mark.  "He'll 
know." 

"Dun'no'  any  lawyer,"  says  Uncle  Hier- 
onymous. 

Mark  slapped  his  leg.  "I  know  one,"  says 
he,  "and  he's  one  you  can  t-t-trust,  too. 
Name's  Macmillan.  We  met  him  fishin' 
b-b-back  of  your  house." 

I  remembered  him  right  off  and  knew 
in  a  second  he'd  be  a  good  man  to  go 
to. 

"  Come  on,"  says  Mark.  "  Let's  find 
him." 

So  off  we  went  looking  for  Mr.  Macmillan. 
273 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Uncle  made  up  another  poem  as  we  went 
along: 

"I  never  seen  sich  a  surprise; 
It  most  knocks  out  a  feller's  eyes." 

I  expect  it  did  pretty  nearly  surprise  him 
to  death. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  was  easy  to  find  Mr.  Macmillan.  Every- 
body seemed  to  know  him.  His  office 
was  up  over  the  bank.  When  we  got  there 
he  was  in,  but  at  first  he  didn't  recognize  us. 

"D-don't  you  remember  the  boys  you 
m-met  while  you  was  f-f-fishin'  a  week  ago?" 

"Of  course,"  says  he.  "Of  course  I  do. 
Sit  right  down  and  tell  me  what  I  can  do  for 
you." 

"This  is  Mister  Hieronymous  Alphabet 
Bell,"  says  Mark.  "He's  B-Binney  Jenks's 
uncle." 

"Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Bell,"  says  Mr. 
Macmillan.  "I  hope  you're  well." 

Uncle  answered  him  in  poetry: 

"I  got  my  health;    I  got  my  breath, 
But  I'm  clost  to  bein'  s'prised  to  death." 

Mr.  Macmillan's  face  twitched  like  he 
wanted  to  laugh,  but  he  didn't.  He  was  as 
polite  as  could  be. 

«75 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"What's  the  cause  of  the  surprise,  Mr. 
Bell?" 

"You  tell  him,"  says  uncle  to  Mark.  "I 
hain't  got  so's  I  can  speak  yet." 

Mark  told  all  about  it,  while  Mr.  Mac- 
millan's  eyes  got  bigger  and  bigger  and  more 
and  more  astonished. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  boys 
worked  all  this  out  just  from  seeing  a  letter, 
and  that  you  outwitted  those  two  men?  It 
doesn't  come  within  the  bounds  of  possi- 
bility." 

"Everything  I  s-said,"  says  Mark,  sort 
of  dignified,  "we  did." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  says  Mr.  Macmil- 
lan.  "I  didn't  doubt  your  word,  of  course. 
But  it's  so  remarkable.  You  are  remarkable 
boys." 

I  shook  my  head.  "Mark's  a  remarkable 
boy,"  says  I.  "All  I  did  was  come  along." 

Mr.  Macmillan  shook  his  head.  "You 
both  deserve  a  lot  of  credit.  As  for  me,  I'm 
proud  I  know  you.  Now  let's  get  down  to 
business.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it 
all?" 

"We  d-d-don't  know,"  says  Mark.  " That's 
why  we  came  to  you." 
276 


MARK    TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Mr.  Macmillan  turned  and  looked  at  his 
desk.  For  fifteen  minutes  he  thought  it  over, 
and  then  he  says,  "I  guess  we  better  have  a 
talk  with  Jiggins  &  Co.  Can  you  find  them?" 

"I  guess  so,"  I  says.    "I'll  go  and  see." 

I  hustled  right  over  to  the  hotel,  and  there, 
in  the  office,  sat  Jiggins  and  Collins,  looking 
pretty  glum,  I  can  tell  you.  I  went  straight 
up  to  them. 

"Mr.  Macmillan  wants  to  know  if  you'll 
please  come  up  to  his  office,"  says  I. 

Jiggins  began  to  sing  his  funny  little  tune. 
"  Tum-a-diddle,  dum-a-diddle,  dum-a-diddle- 
dee,"  and  so  on.  Then  he  smiled  sort  of 
sickly. 

"Well,  Binney,"  says  he,  "you  beat,  after 
all,  didn't  you?" 

"Mark  Tidd  comes  pretty  close  to  beatin' 
every  time,"  I  says. 

"Yes,"  says  Jiggins,  "I  expect  he  does. 
Looks  like  he  would.  Wonderful  boy.  Knew 
he  was  wonderful  all  the  time.  Liked  him. 
Still  like  him.  Always  will  like  him.  No 
hard  feelings.  Not  a  one.  Don't  hold  a 
thing  up  against  him." 

"That's  good,"  says  I,  "because  Mark  and 
I  don't  hold  no  grudge  against  you  and  Mr. 
277 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

Collins.  You  wasn't  doin'  right,  but  maybe 
that  wasn't  your  fault.  Maybe  you  wasn't 
taught  jest  proper.  You're  the  pleasantest 
villains  I  ever  knew." 

At  that  both  Collins  and  Jiggins  laughed. 
"  First  time  I  ever  thought  of  myself  as  a  vil- 
lain," says  Collins. 

"Who's  Mr.  Macmillan?"  says  Jiggini. 

"He's  our  lawyer." 

"Oh,"  says  Jiggins,  and  he  laughed  again, 
but  this  time  it  was  a  pale  sort  of  laugh. 
"You  don't  let  grass  grow  under  your  feet." 

"Not  when  we're  fussin'  with  you,  Mr. 
Jiggins,"  says  I,  meaning  a  compliment. 

He  took  it  that  way,  and  smiled  like  he 
was  pleased. 

"Will  you  come?"  I  asked  him. 

"To  be  sure.  Why  not?  Nothing  else  to 
do.  Got  to  bargain  now.  Cost  more  money. 
Ugh!  Hate  to  think  how  much." 

We  went  right  up  to  Mr.  Macmillan's 
office,  and  I  introduced  Collins  and  Jiggins 
to  him. 

"Who  are  you  acting  for?"  asked  Mr. 
Macmillan. 

"The  United  States  Copper  Company/' 
says  Jiggins. 

278 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Have  you  authority  to  make  an  agreement 
on  this  matter?" 

"Yes,"  says  Jiggins. 

"Well,"  says  Mr.  Macmillan,  "I've  thought 
this  over,  and  I  guess  a  royalty  on  tonnage 
will  be  the  best  plan  for  Mr.  Bell." 

"What's  a  royalty  on  t-t-tonnage?"  asked 
Mark. 

"It  means  that  the  company  will  pay  Mr. 
Bell  a  certain  amount  for  every  ton  of  copper 
it  takes  out  of  his  mine." 

Mark  nodded  his  head. 

"That  would  be  most  satisfactory  to  us," 
says  Jiggins. 

Then  they  went  to  arguing  and  dickering 
and  talking  and  talking  for  hours,  it  seemed. 
Then  Mr.  Macmillan  called  in  his  stenogra- 
pher and  dictated  an  agreement  to  her.  The 
agreement  read  that  the  company  was  to  pay 
to  Uncle  Hieronymous  or  his  heirs  three 
thousand  dollars  every  year  for  fifty  years. 
They  were  to  pay  that  much  at  the  very- 
least.  That  was  what  Mr.  Macmillan  called  a 
minimum.  Mark  saved  up  that  word.  But 
uncle  might  get  more.  If  the  company  took 
out  so  much  copper  that  the  royalties  came 
to  more  than  three  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
279 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

uncle  would  get  whatever  it  was.  He  might 
get  nothing  but  the  three  thousand  dollars 
every  year,  and  then,  again,  he  might  get 
ten  or  twenty  times  as  much. 

Uncle  Hieronymous  sat  like  he  was  dream- 
ing. Every  once  in  a  while  he'd  break  out 
with  some  sort  of  an  exclamation  like 
"Shucks!"  or  "Ginger!"  or  "I  swanny!" 

The  agreement  was  written  after  a  while. 

"You  send  this  to  be  signed  by  the  proper 
officers  of  your  company,"  says  Mr.  Mac- 
millan.  "When  it  comes  back  with  the  three 
thousand  dollars  for  the  first  year  Mr.  Bell 
will  sign,  too.  Then  the  matter  will  be  settled." 

Well,  Jiggins  sent  the  contract  to  his  com- 
pany, and  they  signed  it  and  sent  back  the 
money.  That  fixed  it  so  Uncle  Hieronymous 
was  rich.  Think  of  it!  Three  thousand  dol- 
lars every  year,  and  maybe  more!  He 
couldn't  get  used  to  it,  and  kept  saying  he 
didn't  know  what  to  do  with  it  and  it  would 
be  a  burden  to  him.  Mark  told  him  he'd 
find  ways  to  use  it  and  he  needn't  worry. 

How  proud  he  was  of  Mark  and  me!    He 
never  stopped  talking  about  us  and  what  we 
did  and  making  poems  about  it.    One  of  the 
poems  I  remember.    It  said: 
280 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

"Oh,  Binney  Jenks  and  Marcus  Tidd, 
It  beats  the  dickens  what  you  did!" 


Now,  isn't  that  a  dandy  compliment? 

Well,  when  everything  was  settled  we  said 
good-by  to  Mr.  Macmillan  and  to  Collins 
and  Jiggins.  They  had  got  over  their  dis- 
appointment and  were  quite  pleasant  again. 
They  came  down  to  the  depot  to  see  us  off, 
and  Jiggins  gave  both  of  us  a  jack-knife. 
They  were  dandies,  too,  with  a  corkscrew, 
a  hammer,  a  saw,  a  glass-cutter,  a  file,  and 
lots  of  other  tools  in  them. 

We  shook  hands  all  around,  and  somehow 
I  was  sorry  to  see  the  last  of  them.  They  were 
the  pleasantest  enemies  in  the  world.  Then 
the  train  started  off,  and  we  were  on  our  way 
to  Baldwin  again. 

My!  but  Tallow  and  Plunk  were  glad  to 
see  us,  and  Martha  and  Mary  were  so  tickled 
to  see  Uncle  Hieronymous  they  almost  scared 
him  to  death.  He  hired  a  man  to  go  and  drive 
Alfred  back  from  the  farm  where  he'd  left 
him. 

We  boys  stayed  with  him  a  whole  month, 
and  I  want  to  tell  you  we  had  the  best  time 
ever.  It  was  a  lot  better  than  it  would  have 
281 


MARK   TIDD    IN   THE    BACKWOODS 

been,  because  all  the  while  we  were  so  glad 
we  had  helped  to  make  Uncle  Hieronymous 
rich. 

At  last  we  had  to  start  for  home,  and 
uncle  drove  us  to  the  train  behind  Alfred. 
He  was  most  crying  when  he  said  good-by, 
but  he  promised  to  come  and  see  us  a  long 
time  next  winter.  The  last  thing  he  said  was 
a  poem. 

"I  do  admire  Marcus  Tidd. 
He  surely  is  the  smartest  kid.M 

And  Tallow  and  Plunk  and  I  agreed  with 
him.  Don't  you  think  so,  too? 


THE    END 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OFCAU1 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


JIJL  301S"? 

DATE  Si 

MT 

SEP  6     1952 

r™^ 

SEP  9  -  RECD 

FfcB  Oo  1 

)/ 

-  ' 

DUE  3  MONTHS 
DATE  RECEIV 

IOM 
3 

7h  f-  & 

UCLA  URL 

'ILL 

11  1962 

Rf  CfD  LO-URL 

r»r»r%     •*    /v    -. 

FEB12S97 


006  061   116  7 


PS 
3521 

K27mi 


